


Days to Remember

by maq_moon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Loss of Virginity, Wingman Poe, Wingwoman Rose, author was a history major, so get ready for details, too soon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maq_moon/pseuds/maq_moon
Summary: A man heads home after years of estrangement.What do you need from me?A woman leaves her world behind, a bird in a gilded cage.When we get to New York, I need help running away.I'll bring you to Boston with me.A Titanic!AU where Rey doesn't let go.NOT a movie rewrite!





	1. Southampton

**Author's Note:**

> I am a whore for history. There are three or four specific things that send me into fits. The _RMS Titanic_ is one of them.  
>  So! When this came across my tumblr dash, I couldn't resist:
> 
> from [@underrated-reylo](http://underrated-reylo.tumblr.com):  
> “Even in death I will always love you…”  
> Titanic au except :))))))) Rey :))))) Doesn’t :)))))))))) let :)))))))))))))))))) go :)))))))))))))))))))))
> 
> So... spoiler alert? But a happy one :D

"I raise a shilling." The man tossed a coin onto the table and ran a hand through his dark, dirty hair. His fingers were stained with grease and oil, and he couldn't remember the last time he had given his clothes a proper wash. He looked at the five cards in his hand, frowning, and rearranged them.

            "A shilling? One bloody shilling?" his friend said. He lay down a card, picked up another. "You must have a shit hand. I raise... three shillings."

            The pair sat at a round table in a seedy wooden bar in Southampton. It stank of stale beer, sweat, and exhaust. The open windows did nothing to help; in fact, they made it all the worse. Automobiles and ships churned smoke into the air, choking those unaccustomed to it. Fortunately, Ben Solo and Poe Dameron _were_ accustomed to it. Not so long ago in America, Poe had worked for the Ford Motor Company. Once upon a time in Germany, Ben had stolen a Benz Patent-Motorwagen.

            There were two other men at the table, French brothers, Jean and Jacques, with growling stomachs and hungry eyes. They watched the pile of money grow, pounds, shillings, and pence all piling up to spell their next several meals. Jean reached for three shillings but found he was four pence short. He frowned. He made to speak to his brother in French, to strategize, but Poe interrupted.

            "We are in England, Messieurs. We speak English. And we certainly don't cheat."

            Jean sighed and threw two pieces of paper onto the pile of money.

            Tickets.

             Jacques's face turned red and his eyes went as wide and round as saucers. "Idiot! Ils sont notre billes!"

            "Je sais, sot! Il," Jean jerked his thumb towards Poe, "es un mauvais menteur, et son ami évidemment n'a rien. Nous aurons les billes _et_ l'argent. Croyez-moi, mon frère."

            Pacified but not pleased, Jaques made a gesture of resignation. "Two pair, Queens and threes."

            Poe showed his hand. "You got me beat. Two pair, fours and Jacks."

            Jean smiled widely and spread his cards on the table. "Four of a kind, nines." He looked at his brother triumphantly. Not much could beat that, especially with two Jacks and two Queens out of the picture.

            "Well, shit," Ben said. "All I have is this royal flush."

            Poe whooped in delight as Ben scooped the money and tickets into his messenger bag. Jacques punched Jean square in the jaw, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. The brothers had a heated argument, but Ben and Poe weren't around to hear it. They were heading for the docks, and for home.

            They were heading for the _RMS Titanic_.  

\---------

            Rey sighed in resignation. She was going to America. She was leaving behind her entire world, everything she had ever known. Oh, she had been on ships before, had taken luxurious voyages. She undoubtedly would again. This was different. This had an air of finality, an undercurrent of dread. She would board this ship, dock in New York, and get married to Armitage Hux.

            She didn't hate Armitage. She didn't even dislike him. That was the problem. She was entirely apathetic towards him. Sometimes, Rey thought, it would be better if she hated him. At least then there would be some kind of passion, albeit an unfortunate sort. Beneath the well-bred society lady, there was a predatory bird _screaming_ to be released, _screaming_ for the hot rush of blood and adrenaline that she knew some women had, _screaming_ for a modicum of freedom. Being engaged to Armitage Hux allowed her no freedoms. She was to be his pretty wife, entertaining his guests and laying dutifully beneath him as he tried to put a baby in her. She was to be the mother of his children, deferring all decisions to him as soon as the child was off of her breast. She was to be, in a word, subjugated.

            All of these things went through her mind as she walked along the docks, hand on Finn's arm. Ah, Finn. Such a nice boy. One of Armitage's manservants, Finn had always shown her more kindness than anyone else in the Hux household. Had she been home- had her father been alive and letting her run wild- Finn might have even been her friend. As it was, a friendship between lady and manservant would only anger Armitage.

            He cut a fine juxtaposition to Nines, the stoic man who always guarded Armitage. Rey wondered from time to time just why her husband-to-be needed a guard. She wasn't brave enough to ask.

            Rey didn't stand on deck and wave Southampton goodbye. It would hurt too much, she knew. Instead, she sat in the parlor of a room whose number she had forgotten. B something. It didn't matter. She would be on this ship for seven days, and then she would be on an entirely new continent. It was the largest ship ever built, but it felt like a prison. The United States was gigantic and still expanding, but she would be trapped there, too. Mrs. Armitage Hux wouldn't have many liberties, even in the land of opportunity.

            Distantly, she heard Armitage speaking.

            "I told them when I booked that I don't like the Georgian style, yet what have I got? A Georgian style room."

            "With respect, sir, your room is a Louis XVI. The Georgian is Miss Rey's," Finn said.

            "That's beside the point, Finn. She is my fiancée, so it is a logical assumption that I will be in her sitting room from time to time. If her suite is Georgian, I have to tolerate that."

            "I understand, sir. Would you like me to draft a formal complaint, sir?"

            "It's fine," Rey interjected. "I'm fine. I like Georgian. I prefer Georgian."

            "That won't be necessary, Finn," Armitage said. "I can always take my business to a different line if they don't exceed my expectations. You're dismissed."

            "Sir. Miss." Finn deferentially gave a small bow from the waist and let himself out.

            Armitage sat next to Rey on her green-and-pink settee. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. "I must ask you to not interrupt conversations." He said it without anger or malice or spite, or anything else Rey would expect from an aristocrat who had been offended.

            "I'm sorry," she replied.

            He took one of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "It's a habit, Rey. I can't have you doing that while we're entertaining. Once we're married, you'll have to bite your tongue. I know your father was... lax... with you. He encouraged you to form your own opinions. But he is dead now. He is dead and I am going to be your husband. You need to either agree with me or become a better actress."

            Rey nodded. Armitage closed his eyes again and relaxed, keeping her hand in his. Rey sat ramrod straight, feet tucked at the proper angle, as if she were in a formal situation.

            "Doesn't it strike you as queer," she said, uncomfortable with the silence, "that we are the first people to touch any of these things? I'm the first to sleep in that bed. I'm the first to use that sink. I will be the first person to wake and dress in this room."

            Armitage kissed her fingertips. She shuddered. "I'm the first, too." He touched her mouth. "I will be the first to kiss you." He ghosted his hand down her front, not touching her but enough to make her uncomfortable. "I will be the first to touch your breasts." He lay his hand on her knee. "I will be the first to fuck you. I will be the first and last in all of these things. The _only_. Isn't that right?" His voice took a sharp edge, and his normally disinterested eyes turned hard.

            "Yes. Of- of course, Armitage."

            "Because you don't act like you want to be my wife, Rey. You talk to other men. You talk with them easily. You _do_ want to be my wife, don't you, Rey?"

            For one hot, beautiful moment she wanted to tell him the truth _. I'm marrying you for your money. My father would hate me for it, but I'm marrying you for your money because the rest of my family needs me to do it_. But she was too smart for that.

            "Of course I do, Armitage," she scoffed. She even managed to look angry. "We've known each other for years. Who else could it be but you?"

            He exhaled through his nose and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I just needed to hear you say it." He left without a goodbye.

            Rey ran to her door and pressed her ear to it, waiting for the sound of Armitage's own door to close. Hearing the satisfying _click_ , she ran into her bedroom, shooed her maid, threw herself on her Georgian style bed and cried.

\---------

            Ben and Poe waved enthusiastically. "Pip pip cheerio, England!" Poe yelled at the top of his voice. "See you hopefully never again!"

            Ben didn't hold back his laughter. They were going home. _He_ was going home. In one week, seven short days on the fanciest boat ever built, he'd be back in the States. From New York, he could head down to Boston and reconnect with his parents. Hell, maybe he'd even get along with his uncle. He'd get a good job, meet a girl. He'd live the goddamn American Dream, now that he knew what it really was.

            He had fled his family with no intention of returning. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Ben had everything and appreciated nothing. His Grand Tour never ended. Or, he never intended for it to end. Once his parents figured out that he wasn't planning to come home, they cut off his funds. He'd been in Germany at the time, specifically Alsace, seducing women in both French and German, drinking Rieslings and eating Choucroute with a little extra juniper. The sudden lack of funds caused a drastic change in lifestyle, a car theft and furious drive to Champagne to sell the vehicle. He got the Francs, but he also got caught up in the Champagne Riots. Sequestered in the little town of Damery, he met Poe Dameron. "No real ties to the village," Poe had said. "I'm American, too." They did odd jobs to pay their way to Calais. In Calais, they worked in the shipyards until they could afford passage to England. "I'm sick of speaking French," Poe had complained. They crossed the channel and got work in Dover until they heard about the marvel of Irish engineering that was the _RMS Titanic_. "That's good money," Poe had said. They worked in the shipyards of Southampton, never imagining that Ben would get a lucky hand in a game of poker where tickets _home_ were on the line.

            And so they laughed and cheered with everyone else, skin burning from de-lousing powder, ears ringing from the blaring ship's horn, souls filled with dreams they hadn't dared dream since well before they had met.

            "C'mon," Poe said, pulling Ben's arm, "I want to see where we'll be living for the next week. I hear they treat poor folk well at White Star."

            Down into the bowels of the ship they went, Poe muttering the letter _F_ under his breath until they reached that deck. He would recite details about the ship as they went along, things he had learned while working in the shipyard. Ben smiled and nodded, but he didn't care about bulkheads or this room being directly beneath that room. He didn't care about the ship's potential speed; he only cared that they got to New York soon. When they reached their cabin, Ben found that he didn't care that it was misshapen and that they had to share it with four strangers.

            He had a _real_ mattress. He had a _real_ pillow. He had blankets, thick and warm, embroidered with the White Star Line's logo. There was a wardrobe for his messenger bag. There was a sink. Four strangers? He would share this crooked, small space with fourteen strangers. He hadn't slept anywhere this nice since he had fallen asleep in the stolen Benz Patent-Motorwagen.

            "Sure as shit beats the straw mattresses we've been kipping on." Ben smiled.

            "Amen," Poe breathed.

            The four others came in all at once. They were a family, a mother and father and two teenage boys. The mother, a stout woman, stood toe-to-toe with Ben and looked up at him sternly. In thick provincial French, she demanded to know where Jean and Jacques were.

            Ben just laughed. "Je ne sais." He squeezed into one of the bunks. "And I really don't care, either, Madame."    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean vs. Jacques: For those of you who don't speak French, SORRY. Basically Jacques says, "You're an idiot, those are our tickets!" and Jean says, "Duh. This dude has a terrible poker face and his pal has nothing, obvi. This way, we get our tickets AND some money. Trust me, bro." 
> 
> Ben's Grand Tour: After completing University, it was common for wealthy young men to travel abroad for a year, sowing their wild oats and whatnot. This was called a "Grand Tour". 
> 
> So I've obviously started off with the Jack/Rose/Cal dynamic from the James Cameron film, and some of that will persist. However, my obsession for this subject started when I was six and I also happen to have some creative thoughts from time to time. I will be using real human people who actually lived as characters at times. I hope to do their memories justice. I'll post links to biographical info on anyone I mention. Who said fic can't be educational?
> 
> Find my weird corner of the Internet on [tumblr](http://maq-moon.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated


	2. Queenstown

It was chilly on the promenade deck. Rey had her hand tucked into the crook of Armitage's elbow. They were the portrait of aristocratic grace, he with his cold beauty and she with her shyness masquerading as regal detachment. Men and women alike lounged in deck chairs, reading or simply relaxing. Some walked, taking in the air as the future Mr. and Mrs. Hux were doing. They strolled leisurely, not speaking. Rey let her thoughts wander. The ship was certainly a marvel. She intended to see more of it before docking in Cherbourg. Armitage wouldn't approve of her spending time in the Turkish Bath, but the Reading and Writing Room sounded enjoyable. Suddenly, Armitage jerked to attention and hailed an older couple. Their pace didn't increase, but they met the pair quickly enough.

                "Rey, I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Straus. Mr. Straus, Mrs. Straus, this is Rey Kelsey-Crawford, my bride-to-be."

                "How do you do?" Rey asked. She shook their hands dutifully, smiled dutifully.

                "We were so sorry to hear of your father's passing, Rey," Mr. Straus said kindly.

                Rey blinked rapidly. "You knew Papa?"

                The old man smiled, light glinting off of a partially-capped gold tooth. "Oh, yes. We met on a ship, coincidentally. A _German_ one," he emphasized. "I prefer freighters from the Fatherland, but alas. Here we are. Your father was a kind man, Rey. He kept a small portrait of you as a child with him. Loved to tell stories about his wild little girl. We were charmed by his tales of a daughter who could keep pace with the servants' sons. Ida particularly enjoyed hearing about you riding horses astride."

                "If it's good enough for Catherine the Great, it's good enough for me," she said, cheeks flushing at the memory of her father telling her about great ladies and horses. _Catherine de Medici, Marie Antoinette, and Catherine the Great all refused to ride like traditional ladies. They were far grander than we, so oughtn't we follow their example?_

                Armitage coughed politely.

                "Isidor, we should dress for dinner. Perhaps we'll see you after," Mrs. Straus said.

                "I would like that very much." Rey smiled genuinely this time. She watched the couple walk away hand in hand. _That's what I want. That love_. Armitage put his hand on her shoulder _. I won't ever have it_. _Cousins who refuse to accept middle-class pastoral lives will never let me have it_.

                "You look lovely, Rey," Armitage told her.

                "Oh. Thank you." She looked down at herself, a column of dark pink brocade and white French lace with capped sleeves and satin gloves. "It's not new."

                "I know that, Rey," he said. "You really don't have many social graces, do you? Just accept the compliment."

                She cast her eyes away from him and flexed her fingers anxiously. "I thanked you. I meant it when I thanked you."

                "I know, darling. You just need to learn when to stop talking." He offered his arm and she took it mechanically. She schooled her face into something pleasant to look at and disappeared into her mind.

                She walked without moving, sat without bending, and ate without opening her mouth.

                Armitage Hux. He wasn't a Lord, but he certainly acted like one. Rey had known him since she was fifteen. He had come to speak with her father regarding some new enterprise and had found her covered in mud and chasing a stray dog. He said he had fallen in love with her immediately. His face had shown something other than love. It had shown disgust. He had mistaken her for a wayward servant and told Nines to remove her from his sight. Then her father had appeared, kissed her muddy crown, and invested enough money to make Armitage Hux fall in love with his daughter.

                Her lips were moving and she was distantly aware that she was talking about her wedding gown with a famous fashion columnist. Really, she should be more excited. She tried to smile more.

                _Would he still love me if he knew my inheritance will be a pittance?_

                They were drinking punch to cleanse their palates.

                _Why should he? I don't love him._

                She looked at her engagement ring. It was a giant, gaudy thing that refracted the light from the grand lamps on the tables. It hurt to look at. She wanted to take it off and send it back with the dirty dishes.

                _I'm sorry, Papa. I know I'm disappointing you. You came from nothing and created a fortune. I'm whoring myself to keep it for people I barely know._

                The most charming sound came from behind her. It was a squeal, a tiny sound made loud by a powerful set of lungs. Rey turned around just enough to see the source: a child. A little girl, no more than two, was laughing and pulling at her mother's necklace. Rey's eyes crinkled and pricked with tears. Armitage groaned.

                "I'll have a word with the husband," he said to the entirety of their table. "He's new money, so like as not he'll be in the lounge after supper, looking to impress."

                "Who are they?" Rey dared ask.

                "That's Hud Allison and his family. Like I said, new money. I'll handle him."

                Privately, Rey already liked Hud Allison and his family. They smiled. They made faces at their baby to entertain him. They laughed. She wanted these things.

                She ate her French ice cream too fast, all the better to give her a headache and a reason to retire.

                And then what?

                Sleep? Sleep, wake up, stay on this damnable boat for six more days, then get married before Armitage could find out she hadn't a pound to her name?

                And then what?

                Then stay with him forever? Sleeping in his bed, raising his children, all the while feeling guilty for betraying herself and her dear papa?

                No, Rey decided. She wouldn't. She _couldn't_.

                The ship had docked at Cherbourg to pick up more passengers, and she knew that it was stopping one more time before crossing the Atlantic. When they docked at Queenstown in the morning, she would run. Cousins in the country be damned, she would run.

\---------

                "Right above us. A few decks up, I mean. They're probably eating the fancy stuff up there, ten courses, maybe more. And they're probably allowed to co-mingle."

                "Poe, I am perfectly happy with red meat, potatoes, peas, and coffee. We get a _choice_. There's a _menu_. This place is a restaurant. I haven't had food this good since Alsace."

                "You gotta admit, though, the whole gender segregation thing-"

                "It's unfortunate but worth it. Do you expect to meet the love of your life on a boat, my friend? Or, if you're just looking for some casual company, where would you take her? All of the bunks in our room are full. No point fussing about it." Ben licked gravy from his plate.

                Poe pulled a face. "You're from money. Aren't you supposed to have good manners?"

                "Knowing them and using them are two different things."

                "I guess. You heading to the smoking lounge when it opens? I'm kinda curious about that."

                Ben shrugged. "They're no fun unless you smoke. I figure on staying in the- what are they calling it?- the General Area. Women are allowed, too."

                "I'm sold," Poe said, whistling.

                "You would be." Ben laughed, wolfing down his ice cream. It was the most decadent thing he'd eaten in years. He let himself have a single moment of reflection of his life in Boston and his Grand Tour. Everything had been so much _more_ than this. The seating was more comfortable, the flatware more delicate, the company more genteel, the atmosphere more refined. He found that, while he missed those things, there was merit to this as well. Sitting on a wooden bench in a room designated for unwed men, eating fare that was warm and delicious in its simplicity- this was good, too. He never would have thought it good before he had his parents cut him off. He promised himself that he would thank them in the same breath that he asked for their forgiveness.  

                As the evening wore on, people migrated to the general area or the smoking room. The din in the general area was almost musical, an orchestra tuning before an opera. Children ran about half-dressed, screaming in languages Ben didn't know, playing games and singing songs. Beer flowed freely. Poe and Ben joined a group of Irishmen they recognized from the shipyard. They toasted something new with each round. _To America! To me mam! To the Titanic! To the Statue of Liberty!_ All around them people danced. It was sloppy and unrehearsed, a mish-mash of cultures coming together in the depths of a ship that represented unity and freedom. Someone played the fiddle; someone sang along, woefully out of tune. It was one of the most beautiful things Ben had ever heard.

                His head was pounding when he lay in his too-small bunk. He curled up on his side, nestled into his blankets, and committed April the Tenth to memory.

\---------

                She lay in bed, having dismissed Rose for the night.

                How to go about it? Would they even let her off the ship? Perhaps she could pretend to be a passenger who had just boarded but had forgotten something ashore. Yes, that would do. Docking was set to occur sometime during breakfast, so she would need to figure out a way to get away from Armitage. She could claim a headache and say she was going back to her room. He wouldn't leave himself; he would have someone escort her. Oh, but whomever that was would face Armitage's full anger once she was gone. She took a deep breath. Better them than her. Then, once in Queenstown, she would... she would... Drat.

                Well, she'd think of something when the time came. One step at a time.

                She slept restlessly and dreamed of horses.

                When Rose woke her, Rey almost told her to forego her finery. She was escaping, after all, and needed to be incognito. Until her feet touched the docks of Queenstown, she would have to play her part. So she suffered silently as her corset was laced; she stepped into her drawers with nothing but a sigh; she let Rose dress her in a pale blue day gown with kimono sleeves and a square neckline; she was silent as her hair was piled fashionably atop her head; she didn't wince when Rose missed her earring the first time; she didn't smile when rouge was applied to her cheeks. She didn't miss a beat when her little maid inquired after her health.

                "I didn't sleep well. Thank you for asking, Rose. You're dismissed."

                Rey took Finn's arm as he escorted her to the dining room. "Mr. Hux got there a bit early, Miss Rey," he explained. "He sends his deepest regrets and looks forward to seeing you."

                "He didn't feel like waiting for me to be painted like a doll, you mean," Rey said bitterly.

                Finn struggled to hold in a laugh.

                Rey stopped walking. "Finn, I wish I had known you as a child. I rather like you." She met his eyes. "It would be in your best interest if you weren't at breakfast today."

                "Miss?" His brow furrowed.

                "Please, Finn. Escort me and go. Go anywhere. I don't want you mixed up in... anything."

                "Is everything alright, Miss?" Finn asked gently.

                Rey chuckled. "Nothing is alright. That's why you need to get away when you can. Promise me."

                Confused, Finn's eyes searched her face. He saw determination and fear. "I promise."

                They entered the dining room. Rey stiffly took her seat beside Armitage as Finn feigned seasickness. Nines remained, always hovering nearby. Rey frowned; she had forgotten him. He usually stuck to Armitage's side, she reasoned, so he probably wouldn't be a problem.

                Armitage was sitting next to a classically handsome gentleman, obviously disagreeing with him about something. The other gentleman looked convivial even while at variance; Armitage had two ugly lines between his eyebrows and his lip was twitching. Rey couldn't help but giggle, and she knew that she would be lectured for it later. _Oh_ , she reminded herself, _there won't be a later_.

                "Ah," the gentleman said, "you must be Miss Kelsey-Crawford."

                "Yes, Thomas, this is my fiancée. Rey, I would like you to meet Mr. Thomas Andrews." Armitage looked very pleased with himself, and Rey understood why. Her own jaw nearly dropped. Thomas Andrews had designed the _RMS Titanic_.

                "Mr. Andrews! The man behind the machine," Rey gushed. "Please believe me when I say it is a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance."

                "Rey's father was a self-made man in erection. He passed on his love of engineering and mathematics to my bride," Armitage said.

                "Those are rare and fine qualities for a woman to have," Mr. Andrews said, Irish accent thick. "I've built you a fine ship, Rey. A fine one. Some call her unsinkable."

                "Is she?" Rey asked bluntly.

                Mr. Andrews regarded her with a sly smile. " You needn't worry. We have more safety measures in place than any ship ever has. _Titanic_ will be the new standard. I can show you the schematics if you like, and give you a tour."

                "That would be lovely," Rey said. "I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

                "It's settled, then. After lunch? Shall we say two?"

                Armitage nodded in affirmation.

                Rey would have been excited, truly excited, for a tour, if she weren't going to Queenstown.

                The ship was docked and passengers were boarding. She poked at her baked apples, taking only a bite or two. She couldn't stomach her herring. The smell of it made her sick. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was suddenly aware of the sheen of cold sweat that had covered her body. Choking down a bit of apple, she stared at the seat vacated by Mr. Andrews. He was such a nice man. Mr. and Mrs. Straus had been kind, too. She would miss Finn, and Rose had been her maid for years. It was not the time for thinking; it was time to actually _do_ something.

                She inhaled sharply, shakily, and put a hand to her spinning head. She didn't have to feign lightheadedness when Armitage asked what was wrong. She lay her utensils across her plate and stood, holding a chair for balance. She was fine; it was just a little headache. She needed some air. No, he didn't need to accompany her. She didn't want to interrupt his conversations. She was always making a nuisance of herself and saying the wrong thing to his friends and potential business partners. He really ought to take advantage of her absence. She would stay on the boat deck. There were officers everywhere; he needn't worry for her safety.

                Reluctantly, Armitage let Rey leave the dining room.

                She had to keep herself from running up the great staircase. Smiling, she noted the time. 8:15 AM. Holding her chin high, she paced herself as doors were held open for her by stoic stewards and gentlemen tipped their hats. Gentlemen became fewer; men in dirty coats became more commonplace. Idly she realized that she was with lower-class passengers. She walked with faux confidence to the area of the deck with the highest concentration of new arrivals. Sure enough, there was a gangplank. It was steep, but it led to freedom. She marched to the man who was checking tickets. She tapped his shoulder and spoke with a steady, commanding voice.

                "Pardon me, but I believe I've left a hat box behind."

\---------

                "Looks like any other shipyard to me," Poe said.

                Ben agreed. It was just another shipyard, but it was the final stop before New York. "Not many people getting on," he noted.

                Poe grinned. "That just means we'll set sail sooner." He waved to the people of Queenstown.

                There was a shriek, a woman calling out.

                _No! Get your hands off of me!_

                Ben turned to face the sound. The woman was struggling against someone who had her by the wrist. Ben ran the forty or so paces to reach the commotion. He promptly decked the man who was making the lady cry.

                "Are you alright?" he asked, ushering her away from the man lying prostrate on the ground.

                "No," she sniffled. "He _caught_ me. I was trying to leave and he sent his ridiculous watchdog after me, and now I'm _stuck_ here."

                "Oh." Ben didn't know how to respond. "I, uh, wish I had a handkerchief to give you, but all of my nice ones are in Germany."

                Rey laughed through her tears. "My fiancé will have one. He'll have words for me as well, I'm sure. I do appreciate the sentiment, Mister..."

                "Ben Solo. Does your fiancé always have men follow you and twist your arm?"

                "He's never dared touch me before."

                He looked at the arm she held cradled to her chest and frowned. "It's already bruising."

                Rey shook her head sadly. "I'll wear gloves. The real problem is that I can't shake your hand and thank you."

                "No thanks are necessary, Miss. It's only right to help a lady."

                "You needn't call me 'miss'. You've done me a service. My name is Rey Kelsey-Crawford."

                "'Miss' is a lot shorter."

                They both laughed in earnest until a hand grabbed Ben by the back of his shirt and yanked, choking him for a moment and nearly causing him to fall on his arse.

                "Is this him?" an officer asked.

                "Yes, Mr. Coffey," Nines said. "That's the man who attacked me." Armitage stood beside him, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

                Coffey sighed and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Come here, boy."

                "Now wait a moment!" Rey protested, jumping in front of Ben. "Mr. Solo thought he was helping me! He heard me scream and punched Nines to make him let go of me."

                "Let go of you?" Armitage asked, his voice a dangerous whisper. Rey extended her bruised forearm. "Nines put his hands on you? He very conveniently omitted that particular detail from his report. It appears I owe this man a debt of gratitude." He turned to Ben. "Will twenty suffice?"

                "Pardon?" Ben asked, dumbfounded.

                "Twenty. Pounds. Or dollars, whichever you prefer."

                "That's not necessary, sir."

                "Well, I must do _something_ to thank you," Armitage insisted.

                "I really don't need anything. Knowing that Miss Rey is safe is enough."

                "Dinner, then. Tonight."

                Ben nodded slowly. "Much obliged, sir."

                Armitage nodded curtly. He put his hand on the small of Rey's back. "Come, darling. We have things to discuss." Rey looked at Ben out of the corner of her teary eye, projecting _I told you so_.

                "What of Nines?" Rey asked tremulously.

                Armitage led her back to the First Class area of the ship, Nines following close behind.

                "What of him?" The reply was aloof and cold.

                Rey knew the subject was closed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Rey: Rey isn't suicidal. Rey wants to go back to ~~Jakku~~ England. She wants to go back to a life that doesn't exist, just like Rey in TFA. I told you I wasn't just changing the names from the Cameron film ;) 
> 
> Isidor & Ida Straus were one of Titanic's great love stories. Isidor was from Bavaria. He owned Macy's department store and traveled almost exclusively on German ships.
> 
> Hud Allison and his wife travelled with their two-year-old daughter and eleven-month-old son. They were known for their familial devotion.
> 
> Third Class Dining: There were two eating areas- one for families and women, and one for unwed men. These spaces were separated by a bulkhead. The food in Steerage was considered to be the finest of the age for the poor. Ice cream was not actually a dessert in 3rd Class; it was fruit. I wanted something a little decadent. *looks at History degree apologetically* 
> 
> Thomas Andrews Jr. was the primary owner of Harland & Wolff, the builders of the ship. He liked to sail on their new ships to take notes and get passenger reactions so as to recommend improvements. 
> 
> Queenstown, now Cobh, was the third and final stop the Titanic made before it headed out to sea. John Coffey was a native of Queenstown. Legend says he left the ship while it was in port, thereby avoiding death.
> 
> Hey, so it would be cool if you left a COMMENT!  
> Look at my weird corner of the Internet on [my tumblr](http://maq-moon.tumblr.com)


	3. First Class

                As soon as the door to Rey's sitting room shut, the arguing began.

                "Dinner?" Rey asked incredulously. "What were you thinking? That poor man probably doesn't know a butter spreader from a oyster fork!"

                "Queenstown?" Armitage responded, snarling. "What were _you_ thinking, Rey?"

                She looked at the floor, wrung her hands. "I just... I just..."

                "You just what?" he barked. "You just thought you'd _leave_ me? Who else would have you, Rey? Who but me?"

                Tears ran down her face and she hiccupped. "I just wanted to see the town..." she whispered, the lie hollow in her ears.

                "You wanted to see the town." Armitage's voice was bitter as he circled her. "You wanted to see the goddamn town _on your own_ when you knew the ship would be casting off shortly after you put those shoes _my money_ bought you on the ground."

                "I wasn't thinking-" she protested.

                "Clearly." He ran a hand through his red hair and slumped onto her settee. "Rey," he said quietly, "tell me the truth. Were you trying to run away?"

                Her face snapped to meet his eyes so quickly that it made her neck hurt. Her eyes were narrowed. "I can't believe you would even think that. What could I do on my own in Ireland? I don't have anyone but you, Armitage. Besides," she said tartly, "who else would have me?"

                He stood and reached for her, but she flinched. "I didn't mean that. You must know I didn't mean that. I'm just angry."

                "Well, you frighten me when you're angry." She walked to her fireplace, putting her fingers on the mantelpiece. Rey looked at the clock and noted the time. 10:50 AM. How short lived her imagined freedom had been! She jumped a bit in surprise when she felt Armitage place his hands on her shoulders and tug her back gently. He rested his chin on her head. It was the closest she had ever been to him, her back flush against his chest, her head against his neck, her bottom against his groin. She stiffened when he put his arms around her.

                "I don't mean to frighten you. I just worry that you don't care for me the way I do for you."

                She closed her eyes and bit her lip, forcing herself not to take a deep breath that he would feel. "I wouldn't be marrying you otherwise, Armitage."

                "If you would only _show_ me, Rey," he said, quietly but passionately. "I'm not asking for you to make love to me before we're wed, but a kiss- a kiss isn't too much to ask."

                "You know I'd like to wait until our wedding day," she said. "It means more that way."

                He sighed in resignation. "I know, darling." He moved away from her, rubbing his temples. "I've waited four years; two more weeks won't kill me." She half-smiled. Neither of them were fooled by it. "I'll see you at lunch."

                Rey put her fist in her mouth to hold back a scream.

\---------

                Ben Solo was incandescently happy.

                Never mind that he didn't have a change of clothes. Never mind that he smelled like communal bath water. Never mind that she was engaged. He had met the most stunning creature he'd ever seen, or would likely ever see. She was Venus with the virtues of Diana. She was a Titian, more beautiful than [_Violante_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violante_%28Titian%29) and more moving than [_Pietà_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet%C3%A0_%28Titian%29). Yes, the sad aristocrat in blue had seized his heart, and he didn't want her to let go. It was an odd feeling, something akin to dizziness and malady paired with the joy one feels on Christmas morning as a child. He couldn't stop grinning.

                " _Now_ who's laughing about finding love on a ship?" Poe asked smugly, noisily chewing his cold roast beef.

                "Shut up," Ben said, smiling stupidly. "She has these _eyes_ , Poe. They're not quite green and not quite brown, and even though she was crying they were _beautiful_."

                "She's engaged."

                "She hates the guy. Besides, engagements break all the time."

                "She's rich and you have nothing to offer her."

                "Once I get to Boston, I'll be rich again."

                " _If_ your parents forgive you."

                Ben bit the inside of his cheek. "They have to. Don't tell me 'if', Poe. They _have_ to forgive me. I need them to. Not for the money. I know now that I can live without that. But I need good people in my life. I took them all for granted."

                Poe slapped him on the shoulder and put on a half-grin. "Does that mean I'm not good people? Thanks a lot." Ben laughed. "You gonna finish that sweet corn?"

\---------

                A finger pointed to a rectangle outlined in white on a blue sheet of paper. "There's the gymnasium," Mr. Andrews said. "I'm afraid ladies and gentlemen can't use it at the same time."

                _It doesn't matter. Armitage doesn't like it when I do anything physical._

                Rey chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. "I'd rather be looking at these blueprints and design drawings, I assure you." She leaned closer to Mr. Andrews's desk. "Are these little pointed ovals the lifeboats?"

                "Aye. Fourteen of them here, two emergency cutters here, and four more collapsible. I wanted more, but there were some who thought the deck looked too cluttered."

                Armitage scoffed. "They're an eyesore. The ship is unsinkable; the lifeboats are superfluous."

                Rey pursed her lips. "How many people does each boat hold?"

                "The cutters hold forty, the collapsibles forty-seven. The standard lifeboats hold sixty-five," Mr. Andrews said.

                "And how many people are aboard?" Rey asked. Armitage frowned.

                "I believe two thousand two hundred." Mr. Andrews got a mischievous glint in his eye. "What are you thinking, Rey?"

                "Well, doing the numbers- There are only enough seats for half of the people on this ship."

                "Rey!" Armitage scolded.

                "She's right, I'm afraid. As I said, I wanted more. We far surpass all safety regulations as it is. And once you see this, you may not worry about lifeboats again." Mr. Andrews pulled forth another design drawing and lay it flat across his desk. It was _Titanic_ from the starboard side. He pointed to one, then another, then another vertical bar. "Sixteen bulkheads that go all the way to E Deck, some higher." He traced lines on the paper, and Rey's eyes followed his fingers greedily. "And I can't fail to mention the watertight doors. They have a modified design and multiple closing mechanisms. Now, look. You see the compartments, all in a row there?" Rey nodded. "If, God forbid, water does get in, we close the doors. The ship can stay afloat with four compartments completely flooded. Does that assuage your fears?"

                Rey exhaled softly. "It's marvelous, Mr. Andrews. But why isn't there a boiler here beneath the smokestack nearest the stern?"

                "Because the smokestack is a smoke _screen_. It is purely decorative. It's certainly more superfluous than the lifeboats." He nodded pleasantly at Armitage as he said this.

                "You have built the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she breathed, eyes never leaving the design drawings. She traced intricate lines and figures with her fingers, cocking her head and doing sums silently. Her gaze lingered on the rudder and she frowned ever so slightly, brow crinkling in thought.

                Before she could ask her question, Armitage had thanked Mr. Andrews and escorted her back to her room. He scolded her all the way, chiding her for questioning the shipbuilder himself, saying that he wished she had more ladylike interests. He brushed his lips on her knuckles and left her to dress for dinner.

                She pulled out her diary and wrote:

                _11 April 1912: Did not sleep well. 8.15 AM- Queenstown; nearly esc. 10.50 AM- cage of gold. Weather seasonable, mild. 2.00 PM- toured ship w. Mr. Andrews. Fascinating!_

\---------

                He had taken extra care to wash behind his ears and scrub under his arms more than he usually would have done. The water was tepid and the tub small, but it was a luxury for him all the same. He took a dab of cologne from a Welsh pugilist Poe had befriended. His slacks and shoes were clean, but he had to borrow socks and a nicer shirt. Fortunately for Ben, life in Third Class had a little of everything and a smattering of everyone. Miss Sarah Roth, a tailor from Austria, was nice enough to alter a jacket kindly given by a _second_ Welsh pugilist for only the promise of a dance. All in all, the afternoon was a convivial time. Ben swore in English, French, and German to give everyone details of how the other half lived. The word spread into Russian, Arabic, and Lebanese. It seemed that everyone knew Ben was going to have one glorious night amongst the elite. He didn't ruin their fun by telling them it was nothing new.

                He knew all about fine dining. In fact, he had always hated it. Perhaps when he reconciled with his parents, he told himself, he would enjoy it more- or at least find it less tedious. Now he had no choice. He couldn't refuse that gentleman's offer. It would have been immensely rude. Ben suspected that the man knew that and didn't care about the consequences. Oh, the consequences! He didn't have proper attire. He had the carriage of someone who belonged, and he could certainly more than hold his own in conversation, but the clothes were a huge issue. Ordinarily he would have chosen a tuxedo; instead he was wearing borrowed socks and a hastily tailored jacket.

                He appreciated it. The community in Steerage, rallying around one little thing, had been marvelous. It wasn't good enough, though.

                It wasn't good enough for _her_.

                Rey, that chestnut-haired goddess, ought to see him at his best. How could he hope to capture her attention- Hell, even catch her eye- looking as he did?

                Ben decided to take the air before dinner. He walked up a flight of metal stairs to E Deck, then took the elevator. Striding along the afterdeck, Ben was stuck in his melancholy repose. He sat on an empty bench, drumming his fingers on his knee. God, he was going to be so embarrassed. Then-

                "Is that- BEN SOLO?" He looked towards the voice.

                "Maz Kanata?"

\---------

                Rey stood in a silk and satin gown the color of the sea on a sunny day. A yellow-white sash was tied around her waist, its ends falling on her left hip at different lengths. Matching gloves covered her bruised arm. Intricate embroidery of fleurs-de-lis and curls danced along her square neckline. Her hair was parted in the middle and swept up, peppered with glittering gems that matched the ones dangling from her ears. She looked positively plain amongst the women in their Oriental gowns, bright colors, asymmetrical lines, and ruffles. She was unremarkable against the backdrop of the grand staircase, its rich English oak and wrought iron details curving back towards the _Honour and Glory_ clock. She was unhappy beneath a striking dome of glass, plaster, and light. She was silent as the sounds of a tinkling piano reached her ears. It may have been a song of triumph; it felt like a dirge.

                She doubted that Mr. Solo would attend dinner. She would see the same faces and hear the same voices that she had heard at tea, at luncheon, at breakfast, the same voices that she had heard yesterday and the same voices that she would hear tomorrow. It was a pity. He seemed like such a nice man. He was certainly chivalrous, and he had made her laugh. He had refused monetary compensation for helping her, which most poor men would not have done. He was, she thought traitorously, handsome. Handsome... but poor. He was probably too proud to come to First Class dressed in whatever clothes he had brought. He certainly wouldn't have anything nice enough to be accepted by Armitage.

                Resigned to another tedious night, Rey sighed and put on her best fake smile.

\---------

                Twelve steps. He was only twelve steps away from her.

                She was beauty itself, sad but smiling all the same.

                Ben felt a tug on his arm. "You have to walk up to her before you can speak to her, you know," Maz said.

                Maz Kanata was a lifesaver. Upon seeing Ben, she had immediately gauged his emotions. "Tell old Maz the story," she had said. So he did, omitting details that may have caused Rey discomfort knowing he had divulged them to a stranger. She had pursed her lips and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the First Class cabins. "My friend Maggie may be able to help you." Maggie Brown had indeed helped. Her son happened to be just a little narrower in the shoulders than Ben, and she had gladly loaned him a fine tuxedo.

                So it was that presently penniless Ben Solo stood beneath fine beaded chandeliers, Maz Kanata on one arm and Maggie Brown on the other. _Twelve steps_. The two women began their descent and he had no choice but to follow. He counted the stairs as he took them, then stalled at the bottom. Mrs. Brown elbowed him in the side. He led them towards Rey, his beacon, and his breathing sped up to match his heart.

                "You act like you've never met a girl before, Ben," Maz said.

                "Never one like her."

                Mrs. Brown laughed, and Rey turned at the sound. "Good evening, Mrs. Brown," she said. She did a double take when she saw Ben. "Mr. Solo?" He smiled and nodded. "I almost didn't recognize you!"

                "I understand why," he replied. "May I introduce Maz Kanata?"

                "Hello there, hello there," Maz said, shaking Rey's hand. "My Ben has said some lovely things about you, Rey."

                Rey smiled. She was pleased by this matron's complete disregard of etiquette. It was refreshing in this den of vipers who waited to strike at the slightest misstep. She was also pleased that Mr. Solo had remembered her name and had said kind things about her. She had been a sobbing mess during their brief encounter; she felt that her impression of him as a gentleman who happened to be poor was correct. "Did he also tell you that he saved me from an attacker?"

                "No," Maz said. "He didn't. It doesn't surprise me. It's the sort of thing his father would do."

                Rey's brow furrowed. "His fa-"

                The bugle sounded, announcing dinner.

                "Do they have to make such a damn fuss about it?" Mrs. Brown remarked. "It's dinner, not the races."

\---------

                It was an easy routine to fall back into. It seemed that many at the table were waiting for him to slip up. He ate his sirloin of beef chateau leisurely, savoring every bite. He nearly closed his eyes when he took the first bite of Waldorf pudding, but showed restraint. He hovered his hand just long enough over his wine glass. He used the proper utensil for every dish. He seemed every inch of an aristocrat.

                Armitage was perplexed. His dinner invitation had not, as Rey had accused, been out of cruelty. He had wanted to thank Mr. Solo for his misguided attempt to help his bride. He wouldn't take money, so dinner had seemed a fine offer. In retrospect, he could see Rey's thinking. Yet here was the man of the hour, wearing a tuxedo and using impeccable manners.

                "Where precisely do you live, Mr. Solo?" Armitage asked.

                "Currently, I'm living on F Deck. Next week- well, I'm hoping Massachusetts."

                "Solo?" a gentleman, Mr. JJ Astor asked. "Of the Boston Solos?"

                "Ah," Ben said, "I prefer to make my own way. I presently consider myself Ben of the _Titanic_ Solos."

                "How very odd," Mr. Astor replied.

                "What is it that you _do_?" Armitage pressed. "If you aren't tied down, you surely mustn't have steady employment." Rey covertly shot him a dirty look.

                "I did a joint concentration of Theology and Philosophy at Harvard College and got my SB. The plan was to become a statesman. I took my Grand Tour, met some interesting people, became a laborer. _That's_ steady work. There's always somebody who needs something built." He raised his champagne flute to Mr. Astor. "I've found that things are more worthwhile and meaningful if you work on them and wait for them."

                "You've grown these past years," Maz said quietly, smiling.

                "Forgive me," Mrs. Madeleine Astor said, "but I don't understand. You come from a prominent family, you went to a distinguished university, yet you _choose_ this lifestyle?"

                "I wouldn't say I chose it, Mrs. Astor," Ben replied. "My parents and I didn't see eye-to-eye and they stopped giving me money a few years back. I won my ticket home in a game of poker with some angry Frenchmen. When we dock, it's straight to Boston for me."

                "For the money," Armitage hedged.

                "No," Ben said, not unkindly. That was, after all, a logical conclusion. "I know now that I don't need money to be happy. It's people. I want to see my mother and father again. I don't care if I never see a nickel of their money, I just want to see them."

                "Amen," Mrs. Brown said, whistling her approval.

                _Handsome but poor_. No, not really. Handsome but _temporarily_ poor. Rey felt her face heat as she watched his hands deftly maneuver his utensils just so. Would it be so bad to have _his_ hands on her shoulders? Did _he_ get frightfully angry? She painted a picture in her mind of him, a composite of the gentleman and the scruffy Steerage passenger who had acted honorably. Poor but happy. Could that be her life? She had tried to escape at Queenstown with no plan. She would have been poor. She would have left her country cousins poor. Was happiness worth it? This morning she had certainly thought freedom was. As for the man himself... would he help her run away? He had been chivalrous once. This was dangerous thinking. But really, what did she have to lose by asking? She would possibly face Armitage's anger, but that was nothing new. She could always lie again, say that Mr. Solo had fabricated the story. If Nines didn't follow her, though... she'd be in the clear. She really doubted that Mr. Solo would breathe a word.

                "I never thought my spoiled little Ben would say something like that." Maz practically beamed.

                "A toast," Rey said suddenly. She raised her flute. "To happiness, however it comes."

                A murmured chorus of _to happiness_ followed.  

                Mr. Astor stood. "Ladies, I believe we shall be adjourning to the lounge for cigars and brandy. Mr. Solo, will you be joining us?"

                "Thank you, Mr. Astor, but no. I should probably head back to the hordes of unwashed masses below deck. It was a pleasure. I thank you for the invitation, Mr. Hux."

                "It was the least I could do," Armitage replied. "Thank you again for your heroics."

                The two men exchanged thin smiles before Armitage followed Mr. Astor out of the dining room.

                Rey's gloved hand reached out and touched Ben's. "You aren't truly leaving yet, are you?"

                His draw dropped fractionally. "I- I think I ought to. Dinner is over."

                "Oh, nonsense, Ben," Maz said. "You're keeping us company for a bit. I insist."

                Ben smiled widely, revealing a large dimple. "I never could say no to you."

                "You were always too polite."

                "No; you were too formidable." Ben looked at Rey as the last of the dessert dishes were being cleared. "She may be tiny, but she has an iron will."

                "I can imagine." Rey chuckled, eyes sparkling. He was looking at her strangely. Maybe she'd had too much wine, but it seemed that he looked at her with reverence. She caught his gaze, held it for a moment, and quickly looked away. Her neck felt hot, and she was thankful for the constant refilling of her water goblet. Blushing, she moved the conversation forward. "How is Boston?"

                "Boring," Mrs. Brown said immediately. "You want excitement, you go south or west."

                Ben shrugged. "It's probably not at all what I remember. I've been gone... quite a while." He shook his head slightly, a few wild strands of hair falling in his face.

                "They'll forgive you, Ben. It's what parents do. Your father may grouse and moan a bit, but his heart won't be in it. Your mother's a different story. She'll she your face and open her arms. That's her way. That's the way of mothers," Maz said earnestly. Mrs. Astor put a hand on her abdomen and started to sniffle. "Ben, give the lady a handkerchief."

                "They're all in Germany. My apologies, Mrs. Astor."

                "You mean to tell me that you lost those fine handkerchiefs that I monogrammed for you?" Maz asked.

                "No," Ben said defensively. He saw Rey hand Mrs. Astor a handkerchief. "I mean to tell you that I sold them. I needed the Deutschmarks for food."

                "Food, you say? I can forgive you for that." She nodded sagely.

                "I thought you were joking when you told me you had left them all in Germany," Rey said.

                He grinned, and Rey was drawn to the single long dimple the action produced. "I never joke about handkerchiefs."

                Rey laughed until her sides hurt, and it felt wonderful.

\---------

                She updated her diary.

_11 April 1912: Did not sleep well. 8.15 AM- Queenstown; nearly esc. 10.50 AM- cage of gold. Weather seasonable, mild. 2.00 PM- toured ship w. Mr. Andrews. Fascinating! 10.00 PM- can't stop thinking of Mr. S_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey's sitting room looks [like this](http://www.rmsolympic.org/c86.html). This pic is from the _Oceanic_ , _Titanic_ 's sister ship.  
> Rey's Diary- Rich people at this time kept "diaries", which were really pretty boring. They weren't at all what we think of as diaries.  
> Sarah Roth- One of four tailors traveling in Steerage.  
> Welsh Pugilists- Dai Bowen and Leslie Williams. They swapped ships last minute because they were waiting for suits to be finished. They were about to make their American debut.  
> No one called Margaret Brown "Molly" until after she was dead. Her friends called her Maggie.  
> Madeleine Astor was approximately 18 weeks pregnant during the voyage and was very unsuccessfully trying to hide it. 
> 
> I feel like I need to say that there will be some Kylo-typical anger later in the game. There's only a little bit of time for fluff in this sort of AU... 
> 
> It's been a rough day, Fam. Make it a little better with a comment!


	4. Maz Kanata's Stateroom

                Ben woke to the stink of five other bodies in a cramped space. Sweat, hot breath, and dirt assaulted his nose. The sound of pistons working distantly _thump, thump, thumped_ in his head, and he felt the vibrations from the engine acutely. The white pine walls of the cabin were too bright, and his tongue was still fuzzy from the previous night's champagne. All in all, he felt miserable. He covered his ears and snarled when his French bunkmates woke and dressed. He covered his head, and thereby uncovered his feet, when Poe shook his shoulder.

                "Up an at 'em, Sunshine!"

                "No."

                "They don't serve breakfast all day."

                He dressed and went to the dining area. Plopping down on a wooden bench, he put his elbows on the table and shoveled oatmeal noisily into his mouth in large globs. He drank his coffee black, the bitter liquid warming his esophagus and gut quickly.

                "Slow down there. Didn't they feed you upstairs?"

                "It's not about hunger or speed, really," Ben said between bites. "It's about the class system. I ate with JJ Astor last night. _Astor_ , Poe. Now I'm with people who don't speak a lick of English and think this is the best goddamn food in the world."

                "What's your point?"

                "Down here, it's relaxed. I can eat as fast as I want to. I can have terrible posture. I can talk with my mouth full. Up there, everything is slow. Posture isn't how you sit, it's how you move and breathe. It's horrifying and beautiful at the same time." He bit half of a biscuit and chewed noisily.

                "Again, what's your point?"

                He took a large breath. "There's no universal happiness. Miss Roth, for example, would love to go to a First Class dinner. Most people down here would. You saw how excited everyone was yesterday because _I_ was going. But if she actually made it into that dining room, she would despise it. She probably knows that forks go on the left, but not what each fork is for. Do you know how many glasses there are at a dinner table, Poe? Five. Sherry, white wine, red wine, a champagne flute, and a water goblet. If a waiter came by to fill white wine and she lifted up her red wine glass, they would crucify her for that. Rich people don't like you to know that they're mocking you. They ruin you behind your back, with whispers and a few dollar bills. Now, having established that the lower half wouldn't get on well upstairs, let's reverse the positions. I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Madeleine Astor. If she came down here, would she be happy? No. She has preconceived notions about the poor; they are _less_ than her. Nothing she enjoys is here. The food isn't fine enough for her. There aren't enough options. There aren't pillowcases. If these people don't speak English, they should at the very least speak _Parisian_ French. The people here would label her pretentious, and they wouldn't be wrong. It's not her fault, it's just what she is relative to them. Poor people tell you to your face if they have a problem with you. It's a virtue, I think, but one that would grievously wound Mrs. Astor."

                "You're on one of your philosophy kicks again, aren't you? Jesus Christ. You sound like Tolstoy."

                "Thanks."

                "It wasn't a compliment," Poe said wryly. "What brought this on? This- this whole hatred of the class system? Are you a secret Marxist?"

                "Of course not. I haven't said a thing about capitalism."

                "It was a _joke_. You are really high-strung today."

                "Sorry," Ben said. "I'm just- Last night was crazy."

                "No shit." Poe's face was comically blank.

                Ben laughed. "Well, I'd best begin at the beginning. Maz is here, traveling in style. She found me moping around about my clothes and had a friend lend me a tuxedo."

                "So all of that work..."

                "You can't tell anyone, especially Miss Roth and the pugilists. I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings, and I don't relish the idea of two Welshmen throwing angry punches at me."

                Poe nodded. "Sarah was really excited that something she had worked on was being worn next to real finery."

                "Sarah?" Ben asked. "When did you and _Sarah_ become informally acquainted? Exactly _how_ acquainted are you with _Sarah_?"   

                "Your story first, then mine." Poe was smirking.

                "Rey was just stunning, and she's so kind and curious. Her fiancé, on the other hand, is a piece of work. _Oh, you mustn't be gainfully employed, Mr. Solo. Where precisely do you live, Mr. Solo?_ He was doing the classic old money passive-aggressive attack. Mr. Astor recognized my name. I tried to distance myself from the 'Boston Solos' because I have no claim to them at the moment, but these are people who know the game better than I do. And, truth be told, Armitage Hux was pissing me off. So maybe I let it slip that I went to Harvard. This asshole, I swear to you, this asshole asked if I was going back to Boston for the money. I understand that I seem an unlikely prodigal, but I had made my position on wealth quite clear by that point. Rey understood. And when Mr. Astor asked me to join them for brandy, she asked me to stay."

                Poe's eyebrows raised. "Really? That's... great."

                "Well, technically, she asked if I was leaving and _implied_ that she wanted me to stay. Then Maz ordered me to stay. I made her smile, Poe. Rey, not Maz. I made her laugh, too. She's something to see when she's happy."

                "Here's the thing," Poe said, talking around his jacket potatoes, "you're forgetting a key piece of information about her. She's engaged."

                "She hates him," Ben protested.

                "Did she tell you that?"

                "She told me she was trying to _leave_. Leave, Poe!"

                "How do you know she didn't just mean leave _the boat_?"

                "Because she said that he caught her and sent his, uh, guard dog, to get her."

                "Still could mean she wanted off the boat and he stopped her."

                "You didn't see her face. She was terrified and crying her heart out."

                Poe raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just playing Devil's Advocate, buddy."

                Ben sighed. "Yeah, I know. I probably won't see her again anyway. But I've never been one to give up easily. Now tell me about _Sarah_."  

                As it turned out, Sarah Roth was not, as Ben had suspected, Poe's love interest. Sarah's friend Emily Badman, on the other hand... Emily had a round face with a dimple in her chin. Her nose was delicate and turned-up, and she had the softest lips Poe had ever kissed. They had been introduced by Miss Roth, who had difficulty hiding her smile and giggle as she none-too-gently shoved Emily towards Poe after dinner. Emily handed him a glass of warm, dark beer. He took her hand and led her to the upright piano. He sat at the bench and played a new tune, ragtime, Billy Murray- "Oh, You Beautiful Doll!" Emily couldn't carry a tune in a pail, but she knew the words and soon others joined in. _Honey dear, when you're near, just turn out the light and then come over here! Nestle close up to my side. My heart's on fire with love's desire!_ Emily joined him on the piano bench. _In my arms, rest complete. I never thought that life could ever be so sweet 'til I met you some time ago. But now you know I love you so!_ Poe scooted a little closer and Emily, drunk on mirth, threw her arms around him. _Oh! you beautiful doll,_ _you great big beautiful doll!_ _Let me put my arms about you._ _I could never live without you!_ Emily grabbed Poe by the chin and turned his face. She kissed him sloppily. Onlookers whooped. Poe returned her embrace and kissed her breathless. Emily laughed when they broke apart, then pulled him up for a dance. They spun until the wee hours of the morning, talking over the music and stealing more kisses.

                "That's quite a tale," Ben said cheekily. "Now you can't mock me for mocking you about finding love on the ship."

                Poe scoffed and shook his head. "Love? No. There's a certain fondness, I'll admit. I'd allow myself to get attached if she wasn't headed for somewhere I've never heard of. Skank tankles, New York or something. I don't want to have a ready-made family that I don't get to choose, and she's going there to be with her sister. What if I followed Emily and hated her sister? Nope. Poe Dameron will not be going to Skunk Cankles."

                Ben looked at him pointedly. "Where are you going? You never outright said."

                Poe shrugged. "I haven't decided. Might stay in New York. I'm pretty handy in those shipyards, and I hear that your buddy Astor is expanding his real estate in a vertical fashion. Might go back to Ford Motor. I liked that well enough."

                "Why don't you come to Boston with me? I could use the company and support, especially if... well, you know."

                "I thought we weren't doing _if_. But okay, yeah. Boston is as good a place as any."

                Then there was silence. It wasn't a silence between the two friends; it echoed through the whole of the men's dining area. The groaning of the wooden benches and whispers were white noise as Poe nudged Ben in the ribs. "I think you have a visitor."

\---------

                "I had your girl wait in my parlor for us," Maz said. She leaned heavily on Ben as they walked from F Deck to E Deck and was out of breath by the time they reached the elevator banks.

                "She's not my girl," Ben said lamely. Lord, he was going to see her? Now? Dressed like this? "I can't do this, Maz. I want more than she can give me."

                "Maybe not," Maz replied cryptically. She poked the elevator attendant with her cane. "Can't this thing go faster?" Ben laughed.

                They sat for a few moments on a blue sofa adjacent the B Deck elevator banks, Maz catching her breath and Ben biting the inside of his cheek. Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, tiny Maz stood, taking Ben's hand. She guided him through the ostentatious maze of high society life on the sea, nodding at other passengers from time to time. She was an old widow who cared nothing for fashion and pomp, and so she was the subject of gossip behind more savvy ladies' hands. Now, walking with a member of the underprivileged rabble from below deck, she opened herself to outright mockery. She was unaffected. Ben had thought as a child that Maz had never noticed the negative attention she received; now he knew that she simply didn't care.

                Maz pushed open the door to her suite of rooms and ushered Ben inside. He froze the moment the door closed. The opulence of the room was nothing. The birch paneling, the streamlined furnishings, the opulent light fixtures, everything meant to pull him back into Renaissance Italy, it was all nothing. Rey sat at a table in a plain white day dress, sipping tea and holding a biscuit in her bruised hand. She was the grandest thing in the room, even doing something so simple.

                "Mr. Solo," she said, rising. "Thank you for meeting me."

                "Meeting...?"

                "Didn't Maz tell you what was going on?"

                "She did not." He looked at Maz suspiciously. Maz shrugged and took off her large flower-laden hat. "But I would have come to you no matter the circumstances."

                Rey flushed. "I... Er, I appreciate that."

                Maz motioned for them to sit and had her valet bring more tea and biscuits. She then excused herself to the bedroom.

                Rey opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She looked everywhere but at him and twisted her hands in her lap. "How are you?"

                "I'm well, Miss. You?"

                "I'm... Well, I'm- no, I don't mean that I'm _well_. I'm not well at all, Mr. Solo. I know I haven't any right to, but I'd like to ask you a favor."

                "Anything," he said, exhaling the word. "Please call me Ben."

                Rey nodded. "Ben." She schooled her features into a mask he knew very well. She looked every inch a prim young woman who knew how to issue commands without sounding demanding. This was the face of a society lady. "I must first ask that you swear not to reveal any of what we discuss to my fiancé. Please."

                Ben's brow furrowed. "Of course."

                "Say it!" Rey vehemently ordered. "Say that you swear!"

                "I swear I won't say anything to Mr. Hux." Gently, he asked, "What do you need?"

                "I need _out_ ," she spat. Her cheeks were blotchy. "You probably guessed that I was trying to leave Armitage." Ben nodded. "I have no family to help me. The family I _do_ have wants me to stay with him. I can't. Last night, you were talking about how you travelled and felt fulfilled even without money. I want that chance. I know there would be no turning back. I know it. But, Ben, the truth is that I don't have two shillings to rub together. Armitage doesn't know. I'm marrying him for the financial stability of distant relations. My father would be so ashamed." She sobbed.

                Ben tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. "What do you need from me?"

                "When we get to New York, I need help running away. I don't know how to disappear. I don't know anything about America. I don't know if living in poverty will be quite so transformative for me as it was for you, but I know that I'm not happy and that I won't be happy so long as I'm under Armitage's control. Please say you'll help me."

                He was torn. He wanted this beautiful creature to drown in finery. More than satins and jewels, though, she deserved to be happy. And there was, perhaps, a way to make this mutually beneficial.

                "I'll bring you to Boston with me," he said. "I know people in the city. We can find you a job, maybe as a lady's maid or something. You won't have to live in the streets."

                "Is that proper? To travel together like that, just the two of us?"

                Ben laughed. "Perhaps not, but you're escaping. Desperate times and all of that. Besides, my friend Poe is coming as well. He doesn't know what he's going to do once we dock, either, so you're in good company. And let me tell you, when you're poor, propriety is a lot more relaxed. You'll be confused as hell at meals. The tables are empty compared to what you're used to."

                "Oh, I prefer simple table settings. I was raised by my Papa, and he never cared to set the table properly unless we were having very distinguished company." Rey smiled at the memory.

                "Sounds like my father. New money, but he never cared about fitting in. Mother's family is _very_ old money, so I learned everything from her."

                "I never knew my mother," Rey said sadly. "Childbearing was too much for her. Papa always called her a free spirit and said she thumbed her nose at traditions. She's why he was a bit lax in raising me to be a lady. Mama wasn't a lady, so I needn't be one either."

                Ben almost smiled. "You aren't at all what I thought you would be."

                "What did you think of me?" she asked, stiffening. "Poor little rich girl? Just like the rest of the ladies who wear ridiculous gowns and suffocate themselves with corsets?"

                "No, not that," Ben clarified. "I could tell from the get go that you were different. You had spirit, Miss. But you're brave, too. I've never seen a society girl run away from money."

                Rey scoffed. "I was a wild little thing until Armitage came along. I've only been a _society girl_ for a few years." She took his hand and looked into his face earnestly. "Please, call me Rey. You've more than earned that privilege."

                Ben looked at their joined fingers. "Okay."

                "Say it," she insisted. "I want to hear you say it."

                "Rey," he breathed. She smiled.

                Maz interrupted. _When did she come back?_ "Time to escort you below, Ben. I've got to have time enough to return to Rey before someone collects her for luncheon."

                Ben nodded dumbly.

                Later, he wouldn't be able to recall how they had said their farewells. All that stuck with him was that she was coming home with him. She was leaving her fiancé and coming home with him. And yeah, maybe he was interpreting the whole thing loosely, but he would have _days_ alone with her. Well, her and Poe, but Poe didn't count. He wasn't adversarial; he was a friend.

                April the twelfth, 1912 was the date he would surely remember as the day he held her hand and promised to take her home.                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily Louisa Badman was going to live with her sister Pauline in Skanteales, NY. I had a little fun with the name of the city ^.^  
> In the interest of not being, frankly, gross, I chose someone who was romantically unattached and who survived to be Poe's crush.  
> The elevators stopped at E Deck. If you had a bum knee and were in Steerage, too bad.  
> Maz's Italian Renaissance Room- I had a pic for you guys, but my browser crashed and I can't find it! I've been Googling for a full half hour and I have to give up. I'll link it if I come across the pic again. 
> 
> Oh Rey, you sweet bb, do you really think you're cut out to be a super spy? Some shit hits some fans, I use old-timey words, and the promised Kylo-typical anger finally makes its appearance next time!
> 
> The update situation-- I was kinda unhappy updating every 3 days, so I decided to make it weekly instead. Wednesday nights will be the targets (because I'm writing Dungeons & Dragons crack until about 1 AM anyway, lol), but no later than Thursdays.
> 
> Make my day & leave a comment! Or how about a kudo for a gal working on her Padme cosplay?


	5. The Promenade Deck

                Rey took lunch with Armitage, the Allison family, Mr. Bruce Ismay, Mr. Benjamin Guggenheim, and the latter's mistress Mme. Léontine Aubart in the Parisian Café. It was a milieu of North America's _who's who_ , and Armitage was making connections. In spite of his previous disdain for Hud Allison, he was being perfectly cordial, asking about the lumber business in Great Britain and Montréal. He hid his contempt for Mme. Aubart well; loyalty and fidelity were important to Armitage, and his opinion of Mr. Guggenheim was somewhat lowered because of his tryst. He took great care, however, to stick to the topics of mining and smelting. As for his discussions with Mr. Ismay, Armitage went out of his way to avoid speaking of the _Titanic_ itself, lest Rey join the discussion and say something rude.

                For her part, Rey enjoyed her conversations with the women. Bessie Allison bounced her daughter Loraine on her knee and told the story of how she and Hud had met. _It was love at first sight, really. We met on a train of all places and he proposed right away. We were married just a few months after we met! Odd, don't you think, to meet the love of your life on transport?_ Léontine seemed unimpressed. _I don't think there is any such thing as a 'love of your life'. You can fall madly in love and say it will be forever, yes? And then you grow apart, and you meet someone new that you love just as passionately. Such is life_. Then Bessie laughed and said that she thought it was lovely to have so many opinions on a topic that was- forgive her wording- utterly romanticized.

                "What about you, Rey? Do you think there's just one person for everyone?" Bessie asked.

                Rey tried not to frown. "I don't know. Maybe there's a single match for some people and more than one for others. Or maybe there are many good matches for everyone, but the first one you meet is the best one." Now she tried to smile. "I'm not built for philosophy, I'm afraid. I'm more inclined to mathematics."

                "Non, non, that's a brilliant answer!" Léontine said. "It is the answer of a statistician."

                Rey did smile then, and even laughed a little. "Bessie, how old is Loraine? She's as beautiful as a little doll."

                Bessie's cheeks flushed. "She's just shy of three. Honestly, I'm not looking for a doll. I'm looking for a happy little girl." She looked at Loraine. "Miss Rey just gave you a compliment. What do you say?" A tiny _thanks_ lisped out of the child. "Normally we can't keep her quiet, but being in a crowd of people she doesn't know shuts her up tight."

                The three women watched Loraine play with a porcelain toy, all of them smiling in various degrees.

                Then:

                "I asked Captain Smith to light all of the boilers and go full ahead," Mr. Ismay announced. "We weren't even doing twenty one knots. He was reluctant- ice reports, you know- but ultimately capitulated. When are there _not_ ice warnings this time of year? I thought it would be grand if we came into port early. It would certainly give the newspapers something to talk about besides that baseball field!"    

                Rey opened her mouth. Armitage shot her a look of such vitriol that she shut it immediately. Léontine noticed the silent exchange.

                "I think Rey has a question," she said. Rey could have slapped her.

                "Of course," Mr. Ismay said jovially. "What is it?"

                Rey floundered for a moment, thinking of something innocuous to ask. "I was wondering _Titanic_ 's full speed." Hopefully that would pacify Armitage.

                "Twenty four knots. If we're fortunate, we'll reach New York on Monday instead of Tuesday."

                "That certainly would be more impressive than a baseball field." Rey smiled convincingly enough for Mr. Ismay. Armitage caught her eye, his gaze flinty and cold.

                The men resumed their talk and the women resumed theirs, but Rey couldn't shake the bad feeling she had about Captain Smith being bullied into speeding up despite his better judgment.

\---------

                They walked along the promenade deck in the afternoon sun, her uninjured hand on his arm. There was chatter all around them, and the occasional unruly child ran past. A chilly breeze blew off of the north Atlantic; the sky was a maudlin gray. Rey wondered how anyone could feel bliss surrounded by these things.

                "You're unhappy," Armitage said. She chanced a glance at him. He wasn't looking at her. It struck her then that he was beautiful. Pale with sharp, aquiline features, he could be a statue in a museum. His eyes, the eyes that refused to see her, were the color of the Channel during a Springtime holiday. His lips looked soft, if severe, and she thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let him kiss her before she left. Maybe she owed him that much.

                "Not unhappy," she sighed. "I'm... anxious, I suppose. I don't like being on this ship. I feel like- never mind." She shook her head.

                "Tell me." The words were quiet, a request disguised as a statement.

                Rey took a shaky breath. "I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. I feel like I'm going to go into hysterics at any moment. I don't know what's going to happen in America, and that terrifies me."

                "I don't know what's going to happen, either." Still he looked forward. "But I'm a Baronet's second son. I do what's required of me. We all must do what's required of us."

                "Yes," Rey said dutifully.

                They walked aft in silence. The day grew quickly colder and the sky more slate-colored. Rey shivered. She brought her shawl about her shoulders only to have it slip to her crooked elbows within minutes. Gooseflesh puckered her arms. She instinctively nestled closer to Armitage. Was he really so bad? He wasn't always angry. He said he loved her. Only her Papa had ever loved her. On the whole he was kind. He was stifling and controlling, yes, but all rich men were. And she had to admit that she wasn't exactly perfect wife material. She was stubborn and had masculine interests. Armitage was willing to tolerate those things. Perhaps she ought to tell Ben that she wanted to call off their arrangement.

                They turned to walk back to their staterooms. She would need to be laced up for dinner soon.

                Armitage stiffened. "I've been meaning to ask you something, darling, and we haven't had much time to ourselves."

                "Yes?" She looked at him; he still stared straight ahead.

                "How was your tea with Mrs. Kanata?"

                "It was lovely. She has a Renaissance room. I think you would like it."

                "She's an odd woman, don't you think?"

                "She's old, Armitage. We women get strange in our dizzy age," Rey said playfully.

                He didn't smile. "Did you discuss anything interesting?"

                "Nothing particularly interesting, no. We only just met." Her heart rate began to accelerate and she wasn't quite sure why. "It was a lot of talk of our respective homes, and about the wedding." The lie slipped out easily. It was one she was accustomed to telling now. She would default to the wedding, always the wedding; that usually pacified her fiancé when he was grouchy.

                Armitage stopped on the spot and whirled Rey around to face him. Her shawl fell to the deck.

                "What about when _Mr. Solo_ joined you?"

                Rey blinked. Her jaw dropped slightly, but she recovered quickly. Scowling, she snapped, "Did you have me followed?"

                "Answer the question!"

                "You're making a scene," Rey hissed.

                Armitage's stormy eyes darkened. "Answer the question."

                "The topic of conversation stayed the same, if you must know. Why are you being so accusatory? It's not as though I control who comes and goes in someone else's parlor."

                He squeezed her wrists, and she bit back a cry. "You could have left when he arrived. You _should_ have left."  

                "With what escort?" she asked. "Nines? How was I to know that he was waiting in the corridor? Christ, Armitage, will you let go? You're hurting me."

                He immediately released her and looked at his hands in shock. "Oh, God, Rey. I didn't mean to do that. You know I would never intentionally- I forgot that you were injured." He reached for her but she pulled away.

                "You forgot that I was injured by the man you sent _to follow me_. Armitage, I can't begin to tell you how much that hurts."

                "I said I didn't mean-"

                "I'm not talking about my arm! You have your bodyguard stalk me all over the ship. He bruises me, yet you still send him after me. Really, what did you expect me to do during _tea_ that I needed surveillance? Commandeer a lifeboat and row all the way back to England?"

                His face hardened. "That's not fair, Rey. I have Nines watch you to protect you. If he happens to catch indiscretions while doing so, all the better."

                " _What_ indiscretions?" Rey cried. "A friend of Mrs. Kanata's coming to tea? How is that something _I_ did wrong? I try so hard, Armitage, _so hard_ , to be good enough for you, but I won't ever be. It's impossible." She felt hot tears touch her cheeks. No, she thought. She would not be changing her arrangement with Ben.

                A crowd had gathered to covertly listen and conspicuously look away from their argument. Rey, her vision clouded in red, hadn't noticed, but Armitage had. He pursed his lips and held his chin high. Silently he ushered Rey back to their staterooms. She slammed her door behind her and belatedly noticed that she had left her shawl on deck.

\---------

                Poe looked Ben in the eye for three beats and laughed. "You're crazy, Chuckaboo. I've always suspected it, but now I know for sure." He chewed noisily, elbowing one of the pugilists when he tried to take potatoes from his plate.

                "Why? Why is this so crazy?" Ben asked, pushing his food disinterestedly. "Why wouldn't she want to go with me?"

                "She doesn't want to go _with you_ , she wants to go _without him_. You're a means to an end. She's using you."

                Ben flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. "So what if she is? She likes me. She insisted I call her Rey. She told me some personal things. We're... friendly."

                "Friendly doesn't mean friends, and it sure as shit doesn't necessarily lead to love. I think you need to realize that she might not be that into you."

                "But she could be," Ben argued. "We'll be on the road for a bit, and it could take time finding her a job." He stabbed his roast beef.

                Poe's eyes crinkled at the corners and he leaned closer. "What is it about her? Why her and not any of the girls in Germany or France or England?"

                Ben smiled wistfully and shook his head. "Those girls were just... girls. They didn't mean anything. Most of the time we hardly talked before or after. Sometimes one or both of us was drunk. But when I saw Rey... She just has this _look_ about her. It's not that she's pretty- she is, but that's beside the point. She's bricky. And she has an aura of wit. She's everything I never knew I wanted."

                Poe rolled his eyes. "Okay, Casanova. Any more special tea parties planned before docking?"

                Ben shrugged. "If Maz comes down here again, I'll sing."

                "Start warming up," Poe said, smiling and pointing behind Ben.

                There stood tiny Maz Kanata for the second time that day, an unfashionable dress on her body, an overlarge hat decorated with fruit and flowers on her head, and a piece of crisp paper in her hand.

\---------

                "Tea _and_ an evening rendezvous? Careful. I might get the impression that you like me," Ben half-joked.

                "High tea isn't what I'd call a rendezvous," Rey replied. "Besides, I do like you."

                The note Rey had written was perfunctory, messy, and smudged.

                _Please meet for h. tea w Mrs. K. You arrive first; I am followed. -RKC_

                Ben swallowed thickly and tried to hide it with a sip of tea. "Likewise."

                "I just got to thinking about how difficult this is going to be," Rey said. "I was having second thoughts, you see, but then- well, it doesn't matter. I'm followed, _constantly followed_ , Ben. I don't know how to get away from him. Nines, I mean. He's everywhere I go, apparently, watching for _indiscretions_." She scoffed and pulled a face. "Indiscretions. What a load of- Pardon me. If he has no qualms hurting a lady, he certainly won't hesitate to hurt you." She looked into her teacup. "I suppose I want to give you the opportunity to back out. I'm not being fair to you."

                Ben took a finger and lifted her chin. He locked eyes with her. Those eyes were even more beautiful without tears in them, and he suspected they would be lovelier still were she ever to look at him when she was happy. "I said I'd help. I meant it. New York is busy. It'll be easy to disappear. If not, I'm not afraid of guys like Nines. I knocked him to the ground once, didn't I? Plus, Mr. Hux isn't the only one who is well-connected. Right, Maz?"

                The old lady made a noise of assent from her seat in the corner. Ben wasn't sure if she was actually listening; she hadn't looked up from her knitting, nor had she dropped a stitch.

                "You said you're estranged from your family," Rey said.

                Ben rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. You don't need to remind me."

                "I'm sorry if I hit a sore spot, but I'm trying to be practical."

                "No, I understand. I can fix it before we dock. I'll go to the Purser now and have him send a telegraph." He stood, excited, and made for the door. "Thank you for the tea, Maz."

                "Ben, wait-" Maz said, rising, eyes wide behind her spectacles.

                "No, he's out there, I'm sure of it!" Rey exclaimed.

                But Ben was in the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. He strode with purpose toward the Purser, hoping they would send a telegram this late in the evening, and lost his breath when he was pushed into the wall from the side.

                Nines held him in place, his arms straining. "You need to stay away from what isn't yours, cobber." His Cockney accent and the shiner Ben had given him were both heavy, and he was red in the face.

                Ben struggled against his grip. He had several inches on Nines and was well-muscled from having worked in shipyards, but the man's grip was like iron. "I wasn't aware that high tea with an old friend was theft," he said roguishly. He stopped moving and looked down at the stocky man in white and gray. "Or were you referring to the women?"

                "You know damn well I meant Mr. Hux's wife." His fingers dug into Ben's bicep ever more slightly, the rough fingernails scratching him through his shirt. His small eyes bored into Ben's.

                "I didn't know that Mr. Hux had a wife," Ben replied loftily.

                "He will have in a few days. That girl is his, do you hear me? _His_."

                "I was under the impression that slavery was outlawed half a century ago." His tone no longer held mirth. "In fact, one of my grandfathers died to abolish it."

                "Don't play word games with me, boy. You stay away from Mr. Hux's wife or you'll regret it."

                Ben leaned forward, smiling, making Nines have to crane his neck to see his face. "Are you threatening me?"

                Nines smiled, an ugly thing that matched his swollen eye. "I do believe I am."

                "I hoped you would say that."

                Ben brought his knee up, catching Nines in the groin. Nines sucked in air as he stumbled and released his grip. Ben advanced, twisting his adversary's left arm at a sickening angle and shoving him into the opposite wall. He punched once and the rush was amazing. He punched twice and his knuckles stung. He punched thrice and there was blood on his hand. He stopped counting, stopped seeing, but heard grunts, felt blows. His diaphragm was sore; his arms burned. He felt himself kicking, kicking, _kicking_ , and he reared his head wildly as his arms were held back and he was pulled away.

                "She's not _property_!" he heard his voice scream. "No one is _property_!"

                He twisted and felt his fist collide with someone else, someone new. "Let me go, you son of a bitch!" There were voices all around, voices he knew and voices he didn't know. Voices telling him to stop, voices telling him to calm down, but loudest of all were the voices telling him to _fight_. His father's voice told him to fight for a woman's honor, and the voice he always imagined to be his grandfather's told him to fight for the freedom of all peoples; _people aren't property_.

                The faces were all blurry. He didn't know these faces. They were above uniforms of ship's officers, above fancy dresses, above tuxedos, all of them aghast. Then he saw faces he knew in sepia tones- relatives who watched without moving. He saw the faces of his parents, his father laughing and his mother shaking her head. Still he fought, and still he heard his voice screaming. He saw Maz Kanata's weathered face, eyes made large by her spectacles. She was frowning. Then he saw Rey's face. That beautiful, pale face, always so sad, never smiling, was horrified. He was frightening her.

                He stopped struggling and let himself be led away.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J. Bruce Ismay was English by birth, but he worked in the White Star Line's New York City office and had an American wife.
> 
> The "baseball field" everyone is so excited about is Fenway Park. It opened on Apr. 20, 1912. Legend has it that Ismay wanted to overshadow Fenway's opening with a bigger story, hence pressuring Smith into a full ahead. 
> 
> Brits will know this, but Americans won't. There are multiple tea times. Afternoon tea is between lunch and dinner and has snacks. High tea is after dinner. On the _Titanic_ , afternoon tea was served. Maz is just being a good friend and co-conspirator by giving Rey some tea pre-luncheon in ch. 4 and high tea in this chapter.
> 
> I figure Anakin would have been all about manumission since he was a slave in canon. So in this AU, Grandpa was Union General Anakin Skywalker, killed in action.
> 
> Oh dear! Ben, your Kylo-typical violence has repercussions. Your crush doesn't like angry guys, and there's that whole "I-punched-a-bunch-of-rich-people-and-officers" problem.
> 
> Reylo Fam, today is MY BIRTHDAY!!! I'm thirty one. I told my mother that every year after thirty feels like one year closer to death. Make me feel better with a comment??


	6. The Georgian Stateroom

                There was persistent knocking, but Rey didn't rise for breakfast.

                She lay in bed, eyes burning from lack of sleep, staring at the ceiling.

                _Tell him I'm ill,_ she said to Rose. It wasn't entirely a lie. The knocking continued.

                A hushed voice, soothing and feminine, and a harsh voice, cold and detached, debated in the parlor. The bedroom door was shut, but she could still make out the words. Or, rather, she could have made out the words if she wanted to. She didn't want to. She didn't want to do anything but lay in her bed and let the far-off thrumming of the engines lull her to sleep. She folded her hands over her breasts; that steady hum hadn't helped during the night. It probably wouldn't do any good now that the other passengers were up and about, talking and laughing and _living_.

                She could have laughed. It was funny in a cosmic sort of way. The person God had sent to save her from a life of domestic servitude and motherhood by a frigidly angry man turned out to have a temper of his own. It had all been too good to be true: Ben Solo could help her vanish and find employment, he was handsome, he was chivalrous. He was exactly what she wanted, served to her on a silver platter. Rey smiled. "You were right, Papa," she said quietly. "Never trust a silver platter." She closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything. Instead, her eyelids were painted with pastoral scenes that promised freedom.

                She choked on a sob. England, Ireland, or America- it didn't matter. The tall grasses and blue skies, the lilies and valleys, the trees and lakes would always be out of her reach. The little bird that lived inside her chest flapped its wings ferociously; Rey ignored it. Then the bird started _screaming_ again, and she clapped her hands over her ears. The scream only became louder, and she realized that she was crying and letting noise escape from her own throat. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

                She found herself looking in a mirror. She didn't recognize the rabid creature staring at her. Slowly, Rey brought a finger to her bottom lip and gathered a drop of blood. She spread it over the whole of her mouth, a perverse makeshift cosmetic, and pinched the apples of her cheeks. She untied the ribbon from the end of her hair and combed her braid with her fingers. Warily she eyed the hairbrush; she chose to ignore it. She tried to cover the lace embellishments of her pink silk nightgown with her long locks.   _Even while I sleep I must look like a doll_. She snatched her considerably more plain dressing gown from the back of a chair, its wide tie wrap dangling from only one side. Shrugging it on, she slouched to her desk and opened her diary.

13 Apr. 1912

V little sleep. Ill; no breakfast. Mr. S no longer reliable. No hope.

\---------

                "So you got yourself kicked out of First Class? That's it?"

                "What do you mean _that's it_?" Ben asked incredulously. "That means I can't see her until we dock. It means we can't properly plan. It means I _can't explain_."

                Poe shrugged. "If you ask me, you got off easy. I mean, we're not supposed to mix with the upper echelons anyway. How many guys did you say you punched?" He ate his gruel with gusto.

                "On purpose? One. I kind of..." he gestured wildly with his fork.

                "Yeah, I figured. Your face is pretty messed up, Chuckaboo. You can probably get recovery tips from the Welshmen. They fight for a living." Poe frowned, a bit of gruel dribbling onto his chin. "Why anyone would do that is beyond me. I'd prefer to wake up looking like a fop than... that."

                Stretching his sore arms, Ben groaned. "I'll ask Dai and Leslie later. Now all I want to do is finish my breakfast and get a hot bath."

                "Shouldn't be too long a line this early in the day, and I think you have the sympathy factor going for you. Whine a little about how much you ache if the wait is particularly protracted."

                Ben laughed then. "I might just do that. Keep an eye out for Maz, will you?"

                "Can't," Poe said, feigning sorrow. "I'm taking the air with Emily."

                "Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do." Ben winked. "Scratch that. If you really like her, do the _opposite_ of what I would normally do."

                "Naturally." Poe elbowed Ben in the ribs playfully, making him yelp.

\---------

                Armitage had left her room after twenty odd minutes of bargaining with Rose. Rey thought she would be alone for the day, blissfully alone. She was wrong.

                "As soon as I heard she was indisposed, I had to come by. Is she well enough for visitors, Rose?" The kindly voice of Bessie Allison carried to Rey. "Loraine, don't put your finger there! It isn't ladylike."

                Rey couldn't help a genuine smile. She didn't want to fight with Armitage, but some time with Bessie and Loraine might do her some good. She pulled her dressing gown tight around her and made sure her hair was in a smooth braid before she entered the parlor.

                "Bessie, Loraine," she greeted. "How kind of you to visit." Behind Bessie something shifted- a familiar mound of flowers and fruit. "Mrs. Kanata?" Rey blanched. "It's lovely to see you all, but really, I don't want you to catch ill."

                "Nonsense," Maz said, tapping her cane on the floor for emphasis. "You're no more sick than I am a maid." She made herself comfortable on a green and pink settee. "I'm going to tell you a story, maybe teach you a thing or two. Sit down. How much do you know about the Colonies, ladies?"

                "Not much," Bessie admitted. Rey nodded her agreement.

                "Well, my girls," Maz began, "Let's have a lesson on servitude. If a person was poor and wanted to come to North America, they had to buy passage not with money, but with their life. They were expected to work five, sometimes seven years for the person who brought them across the Atlantic. Now, it wasn't slavery, mind you. These people learned a trade. They were free to go when their contract was up. It worked very well for some people; not so for others. A little boy and his mother made the crossing in 1842. They were not treated well. The two were seen with bruises. The woman wore her arm in a sling. Blood. Always the master had an excuse. A horse, a fall, the boy scrapping with other children. When their contract was up in '49, they tried to go north. The woman didn't make it. The boy came to Massachusetts and made his fortune. He fell in love with a woman from a wealthy abolitionist family and they married. When asked why they paid their colored folk, they would always say the same three words: _people aren't property_. They had a set of twins, but the mother didn't survive the birth. The boy went on to fight in the Civil War, a manumissionist for the Union. The children were kept by the wife of a comrade from the war with the Seminoles. Before he left, he instructed the lady to tell them every night at prayer time those same three words: _people aren't property_. She did. The boy died fighting for that message, but his children remembered it. His daughter made her son say it every night at prayer time: _people aren't property_. And now, while we have abolished slavery, women and children are still put into the same position as the boy and his mother, buying passage to America with their labor and lives. Strange, don't you think?"

                Bessie had a sheen of tears in her eyes. "How sad."

                Rey's stare was flinty. "Philosophy doesn't condone violence."

                "Doesn't it?" Maz countered. "Philosophies like democracy, or the equality of all men- without violence for such philosophies, we would still have slaves. We would still be servants of the Crown. It's important to stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves."

                "I am _perfectly capable_ of standing up for myself!" Rey shouted. Bessie looked at her, perplexed.

                "I'm sure you are, in your own way. But sometimes we don't know how badly we're being treated. We can't see the whole tapestry because we are a part of the tapestry. Sometimes someone else has to mend it."

                "What if... we don't like the way it's been mended? What if it makes us want that person nowhere near the loom?"

                "Then you tell them so and they modify their technique."

                "I'm confused," Bessie said. "I don't have a head for metaphors. What are we talking about?"

\---------

_MK explained your family history. I appreciate your intentions, but you oughtn't have behaved that way. If we're to be companions, I must have your word that you won't display such behavior again. It's frightening. I'd like to have a discussion later; will come to you after supper. -RKC_

\---------

                Confronting Armitage was both better and worse than she thought it would be.

                It was better in that she had in her heart that little secret, the foreknowledge of an evening strategy meeting with Ben. Knowledge was power, as they said, and it gave her more confidence than she typically had when arguing. She almost felt like her old self, back when "society" was a dirty word and she wore mud like the finest gown. It was worse because he used words he'd never said in front of her before. The words struck something in her, a soft place she hadn't known was there until it was prodded.

                She sat in front of her mirror after a light luncheon taken in her parlor, brushing her hair and humming tunes from her favorite opera. Occasionally a word or two would leave her lips- probably nonsense- and Rose would smile. Rey jumped a little when Armitage knocked on her door. Rose raised a questioning eyebrow. Rey nodded. Armitage dismissed the little maid as soon as he crossed the threshold. Rey kept humming.

                "Mozart?" Armitage asked.

                " _Cosi fan tutte_ ," Rey replied serenely. " _Prenderò quel brunettino._ "

                "How fitting," he said.

                She stopped brushing her hair. "In what way?"

                "Stupid doesn't look good on you, Rey," he said almost tiredly, "and I don't appreciate you treating me like an idiot. So why don't you stop pretending and we'll have an adult conversation." He stood behind her at her vanity table and caught her eye in the glass.

                "Is this because I didn't come to breakfast or luncheon?" she asked, sighing heavily. "I'm feeling much better now-"

                "I bet you are. Mrs. Kanata was here, wasn't she?" His eyes narrowed. Rey looked at her hands.

                "Yes, and Bessie and Loraine. Why?" She knew very well why, of course, and had mentally prepared herself for the recriminations that would follow. Following the recriminations would be the accusations. After the accusations, he would forbid her to be alone with Maz Kanata. She wouldn't fight him on that. She planned to claim that she was nervous of another visit from Mr. Solo. She and Maz would continue to communicate in ways that confused poor Bessie, or perhaps be more candid in the presence of Maggie Brown.

                "No Mr. Solo today?"

                "No surprise guests, no."

                "I suppose you'll be terribly disappointed to hear that he's been confined to Steerage."

                Rey shrugged with practiced ease. "I'm sure Maz is disheartened, but it's nothing to me. A reprieve from testosterone-fueled nonsense, perhaps."

                Armitage's lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. "Yes. Now the three of you can't have any more private teas."

                She set her brush on the vanity with more force than was necessary. "No need to beat around the bush. Say what you want to say and be done with it."

                "Oh, we're feeling brave today, are we?" He sneered, his handsome face transforming all at once into something grotesque. His hands were on her shoulders, keeping her seated. There was no pressure, nor any pain, but she felt too afraid to move nonetheless. "Listen to me well, Rey. You're here because I want you to be. I could have left you alone, but I didn't. You're repaying me by throwing yourself at another man. All I want is your _time_ , Rey, because when I've had enough of your time I'll have your love. Your father did a piss poor job of raising you to be a lady. I'm willing to look past it. Yet you're mooning over a vagrant who would stick his dick in your cunt and run off before he got limp."

                "Armitage!" Rey exclaimed, flushing. "If Papa heard you speaking like that-"

                "He can't, though. He can't because he's dead. He's gone. I'm all you have left. I'm the only person in this world who loves you." Rey clapped her hands over her mouth to hold in a sob. "I hate to be so harsh, but it seems to be the only way to get through to you. You're only ever frigid or angry. If you actually _dealt_ with your situation, you might return to normal."

                "You can't tell a person how to grieve!" Rey protested. "I wish I could be happy again. It won't happen just because you want it to!" She wiped a renegade tear from her reddened face. "And don't _ever_ speak to me like that again."

                "I may have been vulgar, but everything I said was true. I don't want you around him."

                "We're agreed on that." She sniffled.

                "I also don't want you around Mrs. Kanata again."

                "Fine. I won't be alone with her if it bothers you so much."

                Armitage hissed. "Ah, not just alone, darling. I don't want you around her at all. Not taking the air, not at meals, not ever."

                Rey gasped; she hadn't anticipated this. "But- but we have the same friends! And you don't like her because of Mr. Solo, and he's not allowed to visit her anymore. What's the problem?"

                "The _problem_ is that she's eccentric. I don't want you getting ideas from her. We're going to be living in America for the foreseeable future; we need reputable associates. She is decidedly _not_ the type of person I want in our lives."

                "But she's just a kind old woman, and- and we won't see her again once we dock."

                "All the more reason to cut your acquaintance short. You'll have fewer strings and be less melancholy when we depart." With a defeated sigh, Rey nodded. Armitage kissed the crown of her head. "If you'll excuse me..."

                Rey waited five minutes before she laughed. Let him issue his petty orders. Let him try to keep her on a leash. As soon as he adjourned to the smoking lounge, she would be sneaking down to F Deck. Let him rant and rave. Let him chide her for imagined slights. She would never be Mrs. Rey Hux. She didn't know who she _would_ be, but knowing who she refused to be was a good place to start.

_13 Apr. 1912_

_V little sleep. Ill; no breakfast. Mr. S no longer reliable. No hope._

_Unpleasant day altogether. Weather mild. Interesting chat w MK. New hope._

                She asked Rose to dress her in something simple for supper, something with very little sparkle to it. She didn't want to stand out _too_ much in Third Class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Never trust a silver platter"- Yes, friends, I DID just quote "Muppet Treasure Island" XD
> 
> There was no brig on _Titanic_. Brigs are basically a military thing. When someone committed a crime (like, I dunno, punching a lot of people in a blind chivalrous rage), the Captain decided what to do with them. Usually they would be dropped at the next port or barred from certain areas of the ship. Let me tell you guys something- it is freaking impossible to hunt down historical records of punitive measures taken on early 20th century non-military vessels. I did find out some really unnerving things about cruise ships and what happens when you break the law on them *now*, and let me just say that I am so glad that I don't take cruises. 
> 
> Indentured servitude wasn't outlawed in the US until 1917. Weird, huh? So that's Ani's backstory. 
> 
> _Cosi fan tutte_ is an opera by Mozart. The title literally means "Thus Do All" but is typically translated as "All Women Are Like That". Essentially the opera is saying that all women would cheat on their betrothed under the right circumstances. I'm *drastically* oversimplifying. Look it up; it's interesting social commentary. Also, you know, it's lovely music. The song that Rey is humming is "I'll Take the Dark [haired] One", which is what Dorabella sings when she decides to go for the brunette who is _not_ her future husband. This is why Hux finds it "fitting".
> 
> Oh, Armitage Hux. Your motives will soon be revealed. Well, soon-ish. 
> 
> And Rey! You couldn't even have a secret tea party. How do you expect to sneak away? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave me birthday love <3 <3 <3  
> I appreciate the comments and kudos. They make me smile, and I love chatting with you guys. Let's keep the smiles going with more comments, my dears!


	7. Third Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my very first moodboard! I just spent a full hour figuring out how to embed, lol...

 

                Rey sat through supper with the Astors, Hélène Baxter and her two grown children, Quigg Baxter and Zette Douglas. She caught snippets of conversation.

                _The engines hum wonderfully. It aids my sleep._

                _I play hockey. Are you a sportsman, Mr. Hux? Colonel Astor?_

                _Yes, he found a certain mademoiselle in a Brussels cabaret. He bought her a second-class ticket. Maman wouldn't allow her to stay with us, naturally._

                _Egypt was fascinating, but I don't think the wife enjoyed it quite so much._

_Well, what the Colonel doesn't know won't hurt him._

_Two weeks._

                She fidgeted in her seat. Her dress was older, almost two. The sea-foam green was dark enough to be borderline unfashionable and it was perfectly symmetrical, its bodice loose. The lace at the edges of the sleeves was the only accoutrement, and it wasn't particularly intricate. The two buttons at the small of her back were the only stylish decor. Even her hair was positively pedestrian, only half up in a bun. Yes, Rey thought, she should fit in below decks.

                She felt a tingle, that odd prickle on the back of her neck that meant she was being stared at. Her immediate response was to look at Armitage, but he was laughing at something Astor had said and holding out his red wine glass. Her brow furrowed. Her eyes darted about the room, scanning for her mystery admirer. She oughtn't have been surprised to find Maggie Brown and Maz Kanata watching her from a nearby table. She cocked her head; Maggie shrugged and Maz smiled.

                Coffee was served and dessert forks clinked against china. The moment of truth was fast approaching. _Cigars and brandy in the smoking room, just like every night, please God_. She sipped her coffee, black, and winced at its bitterness. She countered the sensation with a small bite of cake.

                _I wish you wouldn't._

_Mother, it's more for socializing than drinking._

_Quigg, I can't stop you, but I disapprove._

_Gentlemen?_

                When all of the men left for brandy and cigars, as anticipated, Rey nearly sighed in relief. She waited five minutes before exiting, purposefully leaving her beaded bag on her chair.

                Finn met her at the grand staircase. She looked at the wrought iron fabricating of the railing not for the first time and admired its intricacies. She put one hand in the crook of Finn's elbow and let the other run along the wood of the banister. _Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen_ steps. They were nearing the elevator banks. She stopped in her tracks and gasped.

                "I've left my bag in the dining room. Finn, would you fetch it for me?"

                Finn stared her straight in the eye and raised an eyebrow. "Sure. After I get you to your room."

                Rey scoffed. "Don't you trust me to stand still?"

                "Absolutely not." Finn smiled, his teeth flashing in the light from the chandeliers. "I don't know what you have planned, only that you have something planned. I don't want to get fired. But you're also kind to me. That's why I'm going to take you to your room, let your maid hear you dismiss me, and then turn my back while you go do whatever stupid thing you have it in your head to do."

                "You're an evil genius, Finn. I'm glad you're on my side. Remind me to give you something extra special for Christmas. I really did leave my bag behind, though."

                They laughed together, not caring that the upper class hoi polloi stared at them derisively.

\---------

                Unfortunately for Rey, what was woefully unfashionably on B Deck was ridiculously ostentatious on F Deck. She felt like a circus act, all eyes on her as she navigated her way through the crowded common room. People gave her a wide berth, making a corridor for her to walk through as a piano played a jaunty tune in the background. She recognized the song and hummed in time, smiling at the warm familiarity of it. The man and woman at the piano were laughing between verses, and there were people dancing.

                Perhaps 'dancing' was the wrong word. These people were throwing themselves into a giddy ragtime nimbus with no thought for coordination or style. They shouted and sang, their voices sweet and sour and a cacophony of lives she would never know. Their bodies moved in ways foreign and familiar. She had danced like that once, so freely, smiling and squealing. Now dancing was about counting without looking like she was counting. She resolved to do what these people were doing; if this was dancing, she would dance. If it was obscene posturing, she would happily wave hello to the Devil. This was bliss, and she wanted that feeling again.

                Something wet and warm slid down her back. Apologies were frantically given in a heavy Irish accent, but Rey didn't care that she smelled of cheap beer. She smiled good-naturedly and waved the woman on. The corridor of people narrowed as she became less of a thing to be seen and more of a person who needed to live. She abandoned all pretense of propriety and sang as loudly as the woman at the piano. "We will be dreaming by campfires gleaming!" she half-shouted, voice rough. She spun on just the heels of her slippers. "My silver star!"

                A man she had never met took her hand as someone struck up a reel on the fiddle. She linked fingers with another stranger and _danced_ in a winding circle. A banjo chimed in and she grinned. Couples were pairing off, and she was smiling as a gentleman who didn't speak a word of English asked her to dance. Rey nodded and took his hand and they spun, and she wondered if perhaps she was dreaming. Another reel played and the giant circle re-formed. This was what Ben had meant, Rey realized. She was drenched with sweat and beer, throat raw from singing, feet aching, but she was euphoric for the first time since her Papa had died.

                A pair of strong arms encircled her waist and pulled her from the circle. "I caught you, little sparrow," Ben said breathlessly.

                "I wasn't trying to fly anywhere," Rey replied, beaming. "Sparrows indoors are death omens. Pick another bird." She linked their hands and swung their arms along with the music.

                "Sparrows are also Aphrodite's sacred bird. It's the perfect choice." He spun her until she was dizzy, then led her to a bench that had been pushed against the wall. "That's Poe by the piano. I'll introduce you when he and Emily decide to separate their faces." Ben snatched a lager from a passing man and winked at him. He got a wink in return and took a large gulp. Offering the glass to Rey, he rested his head against the wall. "How do you like the accommodations?"

                "They're _fantastic_ ," Rey enthused, wiping foam from her upper lip. "It's loud and messy. The beer tastes like hot piss, but it's like water in the desert. I can't tell you how sick I am of being proper. I lived most of my life halfway between this and what I've got now. I want to take off my stockings and jump in a mud puddle, or, or, maybe put on trousers and run through the woods."

                "I think you're drunk." Ben laughed and took the lager, gulping it. He whistled. "Water for my lady!" he yelled to no one in particular, but water came nonetheless. Rey ignored it and grabbed a half-empty beer from a young man with an unfortunate complexion.

                "I'm not drunk _yet_ ," she clarified. "Give me some time." Her hair had long since fallen from its half-bun and was pressed to her face. "I'm not here for revelry, you know. It's just a bonus." Her eyes widened in horror as she gave a tiny belch. "Excuse me!" She flushed scarlet. "I wanted to discuss my financial situation-"

                "We have plenty of time for that. You're here, there's alcohol, you're actually smiling. You need to make the most of it."

                "I intend to, but I need to-"

                "You, sir, owe me a dance!" a woman interrupted. Frowning, hands on her hips, stood Sarah Roth. "I'm here to collect."

                Ben smiled, and one long dimple cut into his cheek. "That I do. Excuse me, Rey, while I pay my debt to Miss Roth."

                It was an excellent way to avoid the conversation, Rey thought, but she wouldn't be deterred. She looked toward the piano and saw the couple making eyes at each other. Resolutely she walked over and tapped the gentleman on the shoulder.

                "Are you Mr. Dameron?"

                "I'm Poe to you, Miss." He gave a bow with a faux flourish and his companion giggled.

                "I need to talk finances and Ben won't-"

                "Just hock the ring," Poe said casually, his arm snaking around Emily's shoulders.

                "Hock it?"

                "Sell it to the highest bidder. It has to be worth a small fortune. It'll make transport a hell of a lot easier on us all. I don't fancy spending my first days back home in a stolen car."

                "A what?!"

                "We've made a plan," Poe said firmly. "Now it's time to have fun as only the impoverished can."

                Rey nodded and turned from him. She scanned the crowd for Ben. Her eyes were a little fuzzy and her head hurt. There was a pounding that was part drums and part internal, and the music was becoming something of a symphonic screech. The fiddle- violin- whatever it was- played staccato and irritated her head even more. Still, despite the pain, it was beautiful. It was something a _bean sidhe_ would concoct; a faerie revel both terrible and magnificent. Hock her engagement ring. The words echoed louder than any of the music, and they were discordant. That seemed wrong. The _thump-thump_ of her heart beat in time with her conscience telling her _not yours_ , and she knew that she couldn't take the ring. She knew that she would leave it with Armitage. She would sell her gowns and her own jewelry, but nothing that he had given her. It wasn't the decent thing to do.

                _thump-thump_ went the drums, went her heart, went her head. She didn't go to the narrow staircase that would lead her to E Deck, though. This could be her only chance to revel in this way, and she wouldn't take it for granted. She took someone's water and chugged it. Some of the liquid spilled down her front. She realized that she must look a fright, that she might look like a two-penny harlot, but all she did was remove her slippers and continue her hunt for Ben.

                Rey was slender and wove through the crowd easily. When she found Ben and Sarah, she very politely asked to cut in. Naturally Sarah Roth gracefully bowed out.

                "I'm going to live tonight," Rey told Ben. "I'm going to live tonight and face the consequences tomorrow. I'm going to do all manner of stupid and silly things. I'm going to be what Armitage doesn't want me to be."

                "So do it."

                "I will. I will. Starting now. F... Fuck Armitage and his expectations. Fuck. Fuck!" She repeated the word until it rolled off her tongue easily. "And shit. Bollocks. Oh, bleeding Christ, do any women say such things?" She leaned forward, hiding her face against his chest.

                "Only the most bricky," Ben said. She could feel the _thump-thump_ of his heart, but didn't pull away. Instead, she curled her fingers in his shirt. One of his hands rested on the back of her neck; the other found the curve of her hip. "But I don't know anyone who would say those things in the company of a lady."

                Rey scoffed. "Armitage did. It was all very uncouth. He's become demanding and cruel recently. He'd never raise a hand to me, but it stings all the same. I don't want to touch him, but he makes advances and holds me close. He wants me to kiss him. I tell him I want to wait until our wedding day because that will make it more meaningful, but I'm just putting it off. I want my first kiss to be with someone who has been kind to me." She sighed against him. "I'm sorry. You don't need my troubles."

                "I don't mind," Ben said. The ruckus was quieting down. Children were getting sleepy and their mothers were putting them to bed. The men had fewer dance partners. The songs on the fiddle, banjo, and piano, were more mournful. He ran his fingers through her sweat-dampened hair. "Even sparrows need to sing dirges now and then."

                "Not a sparrow," she insisted again. Her index finger toyed with one of his shirt buttons absently. "Lament, Venuses and Cupids, and charming people. My lady's sparrow is dead. The sparrow, my lady's delight, which she loved more than her own eyes... I forget the rest. I don't like thinking of sparrows." The _thump-thump_ beneath her ear became stronger. "I would prefer to be a swallow."

                "Why?"

                The notes of "Silver Star" jangled in her memory, and it seemed that this night, that song, the beer on her skin, and the loose thread on Ben's shirt were leading up to something. She just had to close her eyes and relax. Ruminating never did philosophers any good. "Swallows teach us to not draw a conclusion based on one observation. You said I'm different than what you thought I would be. I'm no pet sparrow."

                She felt Ben smile through his posture. This embrace was wrong. She shouldn't be touching a man like this. She shouldn't let him put his hands on her. It was happening, though, and neither of them moved away. Rey's fingers left his shirt front and trailed up his neck to his jaw. She kept her face hidden, ashamed of her boldness. He leaned into her touch with a strangled sound from the back of his throat. His hand tightened on her waist and he murmured her name.

                "Ben," she said, "I have a question." He nodded. She was silent for a moment. "Would you kiss me?" He stiffened and she panicked. "Obviously you don't have to. It was a silly idea. I shouldn't have suggested it in the first place."

                "Yes." He stared into her eyes with borderline reverence.

                "Yes?"

                "Yes."

                "A proper kiss? On- on the lips? You don't mind?"

                He didn't answer. He ducked his head down and touched his lips to hers, moving them slowly. Rey didn't respond at first. Nervously, she mimicked Ben's motions. She was looking everywhere, trying to memorize everything. She wanted her first kiss to be remarkable. This was boring. As if reading her thoughts, Ben whispered for her to _close her eyes, relax her mouth, stop thinking_.

                Rey sighed into his mouth and obeyed. Maybe the beer helped, or maybe it was willpower. Maybe it was her partner. Whatever the reason, sensation flooded over Rey and she moved her unpracticed lips faster. She grew warm in her chest and began to tremble; her fingers locked behind his neck and she stood on her tiptoes. A jolt went through her whole body when he dragged his hand along the length of her back, up, then down again, resting lower than was proper. He opened his mouth and used his tongue to urge her to do the same.

                It was an unusual sensation. Shocking, warm, and slippery, he nudged her own tongue ever so slightly before pressing harder, massaging. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, only that she liked what he was doing. Tentatively she pushed into his mouth, her breath hitching. He growled, and the sound sent a pulse from her throat to her core. She backed away at the first throb.

                "Thank you," she said dumbly. She tasted him still, and that was a queer notion.

                "Thank you?" he repeated, confused. Her hands were still on his shoulders.

                "Yes. I told you that I've never done that before. So thank you." She swallowed thickly and avoided meeting his eyes.

                "Why me?" he asked suddenly. He put a finger under her chin and cocked her head up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye.

                "Because it needed to be with someone I esteem," Rey said frankly, arms dropping. "I like you, Ben. I think you're a good man. Even if you hadn't agreed to help me, I would still think you kind. I'm glad to know Ben Solo who sold his handkerchiefs in Alsace."

                "I'm glad to know you, too. I hope you know that I hold you in high regard as well." Ben chuckled. "Poe says I maybe like you too much."

                "Poe told me to hock my ring. He's not getting his way on that." She furrowed her brow. "How can you like me too much?"

                Ben shrugged one shoulder. "Don't know. But he might be right."

                When he was alone with only the memory of her body pressed against him, he exhaled sharply. Was he such a fool for her? Before he opened the door to his cramped room, he checked his pocket watch. It was an old thing, bought secondhand, and on its way out. In the light of the corridor he examined its face.

                Half past one. He'd been mooning over her for an hour at least, remembering her clumsy lips and shy tongue. He had held her hand on the twelfth; he had kissed her on the fourteenth. He smiled stupidly, wondering what the morning would bring.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because who among us DIDN'T have an awkward first kiss?? 
> 
> The song is "Silver Star" by Charles L. Johnson. You can find it on YouTube. It's a bit racially insensitive (or perhaps I'm easily offended because I'm Cherokee), but was quite popular in 1911/1912.
> 
> "My Lady's Sparrow Is Dead" is the common name given to Catullus 3. Oh Catullus, you were so weird. In Catullus 2, he talks about how jealous he is of this bird because his lady pets it and is openly affectionate. In Catullus 3, he talks about how sad she is because the sparrow died... but hey, at least now he doesn't have to fight the bird for her attention.
> 
> Sparrows are good luck in some cultures and bad luck in others. Swallows, on the other hand, were always good luck, especially at sea. Sailors often got tattoos of swallows so that if they died, their souls would be flown safely to Heaven. Rey references Aesop's fable "The Sparrow and the Spendthrift", which is quite sad depending on what version you read.
> 
>  _Bean Sidhe_ : pronounced "banshee", this is *gasp* where we get the word 'banshee'. 
> 
> The fiddle in the mood board is being held by one of my oldest friends, a Grand Master (yup, that's a thing!) of the fiddle and champion in several countries. It was a great coincidence that one of his professional shots had him wearing green.
> 
> Next time: Why, Maq, have you been looking up liturgical calendars from 1912? You have? Are you taking this a little too seriously? Fam, there is no such thing as too much research. Research makes me happy.
> 
> Also, JJ Abrams is back for IX _because of Anne_. Spread the word.
> 
> Keep those kudos and comments coming! I appreciate them so much <3 I love talking to you guys.


	8. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's earn that rating, shall we?

                It was difficult to pay attention during Mass.

                _But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them,_

                Her bottom lip was split.

                _"You that are Israelites, listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know- this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law._

                Various secret parts of her had little crescent-shaped indentations that hadn't quite healed.

                _But God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power. For David says concerning him, 'I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand so that I will not be shaken_

                Her breathing was shaky and she was distracted.

                _therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; moreover my flesh will live in hope._

                Last night, she had put her hands on her body.

                _For you will not abandon my soul to Hades, or let your Holy One experience corruption._

                At first, her fingertips had simply ghosted over her lips as she remembered her very first kiss.

                _You have made known to me the ways of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.'  
_

                She had closed her eyes and toyed with the strings of her nightgown, thinking of his hands on her back, her sides, her hips.

                _Fellow Israelites, I may say to you confidently of our ancestor David that he both died and was buried, and his tomb is with us to this day._

                She could still taste him, something unique behind the stale beer.

                _Since he was a prophet, he knew that God had sworn with an oath to him that he would put one of his descendants on his throne._

                She had put her fingers into her mouth to moisten them, then pulled up her nightgown incrementally. It was wrong, she knew.

                _Foreseeing this, David spoke of the resurrection of the Messiah, saying, 'He was not abandoned to Hades, nor did his flesh experience corruption.'_

                She touched her quivering thighs. She touched her shivering stomach. Nervously, she touched the underside of one breast. Her breath had hitched and she almost stopped, but that jolt, that pulse that had shaken her- it demanded tribute. She continued her explorations, touching her nipples in a profane way for the first time.

                _This Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses._

                They grew hard the more she touched them, first poking, then caressing, then gently pinching.

                _Protect me, O God, for in you I take refuge._

                She stifled a gasp. What an odd sensation! She pinched harder and couldn't contain her moan.

                _I say to the LORD, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you."_

                Her thighs felt queer, almost itchy, and that forbidden place wanted to be touched.

                _As for the holy ones in the land, they are the noble, in whom is all my delight._

                She didn't- couldn't- give into that temptation. She was already sinning.

                _Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows; their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out or take their names upon my lips._

                She choked on the noises that were coming from her throat, and she wasn't sure when her back had left the mattress, but it had.

                _The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot._

                She set her fingernails into the flesh of her bottom like claws, trying to ground herself. Instead, she found that the strange feeling between her legs only intensified- that it started thrumming with every beat of her heart.

                _The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; I have a goodly heritage._

                God, she was already a sinner, running from her betrothed and touching her body in the night, thinking of another man's lips, wondering if his hands would do these things, wondering if she was sinning the right way. And if she were already damned, why not further damn herself?

                _I bless the LORD who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me._

                She dug her nails into her skin again, her breasts this time, and cried out. She liked it. Sweet Jesus, she was a deviant. Her treacherous hands moved to the apex of her thighs. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, only that something had to be done.

                _I keep the LORD always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved._

                One hand toyed with the curls she had never touched but to clean. The other moved at a different angle and found something strange. She was wet. Her fingers danced across and between her slick folds, but it wasn't enough. Surely what her body was telling her to do wasn't correct. She relaxed her muscles, stopped thinking, and pushed one digit experimentally towards her opening.

                _Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure._

                She circled it and her hips jumped of their own accord. Oh. Oh.

                _For you do not give me up to Sheol, or let your faithful one see the Pit._

                She brought her other hand back to her breasts, grabbing one painfully. She ground her teeth and mentally prepared herself. Her finger crooked, slipping ever so slightly inside her center. She blinked rapidly and held her breath. The itch was still there, further in, so she pushed, slowly and gently, shaking as she did so. When her finger could go no farther, she wiggled it. Her eyes rolled painfully. She made all sorts of motions: circles, figure eights, and then she hooked her finger. It hit a tender spot of flesh that made her gasp and groan. Her next finger twitched toward her entrance, and she didn't resist her instincts. The second one burned a little, but it wasn't unpleasant. The noises coming from her chest and hand mixed in a symphony of debauchery. Moving the two fingers in different patterns felt good, a naughty secret. Her thumb accidentally nudged something hard and she sharply inhaled, sitting up. Keeping her fingers in place, she brought her other hand back down and touched this new spot. She thought her eyes would cross if she touched it much more, but it felt so exquisite. She didn't know when she had started moving her fingers in and out, or when her hips had started twitching. She just knew that this was divine and that she couldn't stop. She touched the spot again, softly, then pressing firmly, finally deciding that circling it with her thumb felt the most sensational. With each cant of her hips, she made a tiny noise, high-pitched but quiet. Something was building; she was approaching a precipice, some point of no return, and no matter how good it felt, she had to stop. This was as corrupt as Original Sin. She extracted her fingers with a curious noise and brought them to her face. They smelled oddly sweet, and she wondered how they tasted. Different. Interesting. She wondered if men tasted like that. She wondered what a man did to his body to elicit such feelings. Not for the first time, she wondered what men and women did together besides copulate for the sake of children. Did they touch like that? Would Ben touch like that?

                _You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore._

                Armitage squeezed her hand. She wasn't paying attention to Mass. His gentle reminder didn't bring her attention to the Lord. It made her think of what those fingers had done the night before.

\---------

                Poe laughed so hard that water dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "She thanked you?" He coughed and bent over the rail of the ship, spitting into the steel-gray sea.

                Ben flushed red. "She had never kissed anyone before. She was nervous," he said defensively. The heat in his face warded off the chill in the morning air.

                "I was nervous with my first kiss, but I didn't _thank_ her." He clapped his hand on Ben's shoulder kindly. "I'm telling you, Chuckaboo, you like her too much."

                "I'm not going to disagree with you anymore," Ben said. "She makes me feel... I don't know. I want her to be happy and safe. I also want to do things to her that would make a libertine blush. I want her to want to make libertines blush right along with me." He carded his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily. "I don't know."

                Poe was silent for a moment, sipping his water slowly. "Do you love her?"

                Ben snarled. "You know I hate that word."

                "Yes, yes, Mommy and Daddy loved each other, but all they do is fight," Poe recited. "I know the story. If you remove your parents from the situation- and really, Chuckaboo, your parents shouldn't be in any situation having to do with a girl you want to, ah, be _libertine_ with- what would you say?"

                His frown only deepened. "I hate that word."

                "Okay," Poe tried, "If _I_ had the feelings you're having, would _I_ be calling it love?"

                Ben narrowed his eyes. "Damn it, Poe."

                "That's what I thought. It's not a dirty word. Love. _Looove_. Say it." Ben pressed his lips together. "Say it. You'll feel better once you do." Ben glared. "How are you ever going to tell her how you feel if you can't even say the word _love_ with no context?"

                He bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't know that I'll ever tell her." He looked from the sea to the horizon, that far-off place that one can always see but never reach. "She's coming to Boston with us. What about _after_ Boston? What about when she gets work and buys passage home? What if I go into politics and move to DC? There are too many opportunities to get hurt."

                "Or," Poe countered, "there's a grand opportunity to be happy. You're one of the most impulsive sons of bitches I know. You're not afraid of what comes next; you're afraid of what you feel." He punched Ben on the shoulder lightly. "She wanted you to kiss her because you're important to her. You mean more than the man she's supposed to marry. Think about that."

                So he did. The sound of barking dogs didn't interrupt him. The laughter of children spinning tops and kicking balls didn't distract him. He didn't notice when Poe left.

                Rey had wanted to kiss him. She esteemed him. She liked him. She had held him close and danced with him. She was frank. Much as he was loath to admit it, the _l-word_ did apply. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not even in his mind, but the feeling in his chest and stomach reminded him of it constantly. Boston, he thought. If he told her at all, it would be in Boston.

\---------

                "I was glad to see you appropriately dressed this morning," Armitage said. They walked leisurely along the boat deck, smiling and nodding at other aristocrats.

                "Pardon?" Rey's fingers, those sordid, sinful, _wonderful_ fingers, were tucked into the crook of his elbow. A light breeze blew, making her skin prickle.

                "Last night you looked positively old-fashioned. It was embarrassing."

                "Oh," she replied. "I like that dress. I like the color. I like that it isn't so ostentatious."

                "Regardless, we have an image to project. Perhaps a little more sparkle at dinner tonight, darling? That black and white gown with the crystals that I bought you, maybe?"

                "If you'd like." She held in a yawn.

                "Are you well? Your eyes are red."

                "Just tired, Armitage. I didn't sleep well."

                He ushered her into a chair, then took the seat beside her. "Do you need to have a lie-down before luncheon?" Rey shook her head. "I know you're unhappy, and I know I'm contributing. We'll be in New York soon, and then all of our troubles will seem tawdry. Everything is going to change. Do you believe me?"

                Rey's dry eyes met his. "I truly do," she replied. He seemed encouraged, which in turn discouraged her. "I may take your advice on that lie-down. If we weren't at sea, I'd think allergies were affecting me."

                Armitage kissed the crown of her head at her stateroom door. "Get good rest."

                Rey nodded.

                Once inside, she summoned Rose. "How do you cure a hangover?"

                "Stay drunk," the little maid said without missing a beat. "Failing that, Miss, tonic, Mer-Syren, and, er, cocaine are all supposed to help." Her face was as red as her name.

                "Which do you recommend?"

                "Tonic," Rose said quickly.

                Rey nearly laughed. "Doctors prescribe it, Rose. I'm not going to be angry if you've taken cocaine just because some old women say it's immoral."

                Rose sighed. "Well, tonic still works best for me, Miss."

                "Fetch me some tonic, then, please." Rey sipped the bitter drink in relative silence. Rose's busywork was quiet enough to tune out, and her pulse thrummed in her ears.

                She had kissed Ben Solo. Worse, she had liked it. Worse still, she wanted to do it again. She ran her fingertip around the damp rim of her glass. Yes, she wanted to kiss him again. Sober. So he would know that she meant it- that she desired him. She squirmed in her chair, rubbing her thighs together unconsciously. Rey knew that she was pretty. She didn't fancy herself beautiful, but she was confident that she was at least pretty. Attractiveness didn't yield yearning, though. He had alluded to some amount of affection for her. Would he have kissed her if she hadn't asked?

                Would he put his hands on her if she asked?

                She sighed and gulped a swig of tonic, its bubbles tickling her nose. She needed to see him again. Tonight. But sneaking away wouldn't be easy, especially in the jewel-laden gown Armitage wanted her to wear that evening. She couldn't get a note to Ben because she was forbidden to see any go-betweens. Unless...

                "Rose, you've been with me for... three years?"

                "Yes, Miss."

                "And I've been kind, haven't I?"

                "I don't like where this is going."

                "I have acquaintances on board that Armitage doesn't like. I'd ask this of them, but I've been forbidden to speak to them."

                "Would this be Mrs. Kanata?"

                "Among others," Rey groused. "I need you to deliver a message to a Mr. S- Mr. _Dameron_."   

                "Okay. Dameron. What's his cabin number?"

                Rey floundered. "I don't actually know it. He's somewhere on E Deck." Rose's eyebrows shot up. "Don't look at me like that." She swiftly scribbled a note and blew on it. "You can ask Mrs. Kanata's people. They'll point you in the right direction."

                "And if Mr. Hux sees me talking to Mrs. Kanata's servants?" she challenged.

                "He hasn't forbidden _you_ anything, has he? I thought not." Rey folded her letter and handed it to Rose.

                "This is an awful lot of trouble to go through for a week-long tryst, Miss."

                "Rose!" Rey cried. "Why would you think that?"

                "Because Mr. Solo looked at you like you were the sun. Mrs. Kanata is your only connection to him, and now you can't see her. You need me to take a secret note to the one person who can get it to Mr. Solo? Give me some credit, Miss." Rose tutted. "He's far handsomer than Mr. Hux, I'll say that. But the flirtation can only last so long. Or maybe that's why it appeals to you." She shook her head. "I'll see that this gets to Mrs. Kanata. You need to get some rest."

                Rey smiled at her fondly. "Thank you, Rose. You're a good friend."

                "Mind you remember come Christmas!" Rose closed the door as quietly as she could. Rey lay on her green-and-pink settee, resting an arm over her eyes. Sleep was oddly quick in coming. Emblazoned in gold on the inside of her eyes was the short message she had penned:

_After dinner -RKC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, fam, those ARE the scripture passages that would have been read on _Titanic_ (second reading and Gospel, specifically). Such a heathen you are, Rey, having naughty thoughts during Mass! It was an amazing coincidence that hands and devilry were mentioned.
> 
> Skywalker Family Dysfunction (tm) carries over into this fic, making Ben an emotional mess who hates that he loves so strongly.
> 
> Ben wants to make a libertine blush- Libertines were writers predating the French Revolution. They included Diderot and the Marquis de Sade. In short, they were kinky, anti-religion, and typically got themselves exiled or imprisoned for being too kinky or anti-something. Some libertine works are HYSTERICAL in premise. "The Sofa" is about a soul trapped in a couch; the soul can't leave the couch until virgins consummate their love on him. The whole story is, "Damn it, these guys are fucking on me, but they aren't pure-hearted virgins." There's another one with a sultan and a magic ring that makes vaginas talk... If you want some lulz, read the libertines.
> 
> Hangover cures! "Stay drunk" is a classic Dino quote. I did a little extra research on this bit. Mer-Syren was initially for seasickness, but it started helping with other things (like hangovers) and was re-branded in 1911 as a sort of all-purpose cure. Years later it was found to be 99% potato fiber. Side note: if you try to look this up without the word 'potato' in the search bar as well, you will only find porn. Someone's porn name is an old seasickness cure XD Cocaine was used medicinally until WWII, but by about 1900 the Brits looked down on its recreational use. It was a widely used hangover cure and was thought to not be addictive. Rose is a bit shy about having used it because it's not popular with the upper crust in 1912.
> 
> Who else is really looking forward to Rose Tico? Every time we get new info on her, I get excited. She's bound to be clever in TLJ, so I figure she can smell mischief here. Girl knows what's up. 
> 
> Like it? Give some kudos! Leave a comment! I love chatting with y'all.  
> Don't like it? Leave a comment letting me know why! It's how I grow!


	9. Parallels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [diasterisms](kylorenvevo.tumblr.com) made two GORGEOUS aesthetics for this story without even being asked! Thank you again, and I really wish NoScript would stop thinking you're going to hack me because I just love you to bits!

               

               

               

 

               Rey was in rare form at luncheon. She was smiling. She was borderline _happy_. She had managed to ingratiate herself with some of the more scandalous passengers. Her renewed acquaintance with Léontine Aubart made Armitage's lips turn down almost imperceptibly. Mr. Guggenheim's presence calmed him only slightly. Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, who had won an Olympic medal in fencing, held most of his attention. Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon ( _my friends call me Christiana_ ) had a hand on Rey's knee between courses. She was speaking animatedly about fashion: _These bold colors are en vogue today, but what about tomorrow? Soft colors are going to be big. You're always dressed nicely, Rey, but perhaps you would like to look at some of my designs? I know you must have your wedding gown ready, but what about your trousseau? Let me tell you- if it isn't sheer, you need something else._

                Silence.

                Then Sir Cosmo shrugged one shoulder while Rey and Léontine burst into giggles.

                "He is used to it, I suppose, your husband?" Léontine asked.

                "He was the director of my brand when I only had a store in one country- that is, when I first started my business. I wouldn't say he's used to it so much as he is numb to it by familiarity."

                Rey's eyes crinkled as she smiled. The way Christiana spoke about her marriage was strangely refreshing. She didn't deny that she saw the mercantile benefits of gaining a title. She was frank when she said that theirs was often a businesslike arrangement. She loved him and he loved her, and they each supported the passions of the other. It was at once everything she dreamed of and something she wanted to run from. To be loved would be nice. To be loved and supported would be _beautiful_. But she didn't want any mundane affairs like business tainting that beauty.

                She wondered again if Ben would ever touch her the way she had touched herself.

                "You are blushing, mademoiselle," Léontine said sweetly.

                "Does that mean you'll have one or two of my new sheer design?"

                "Don't be cheeky," Rey groused, still smiling as new dishes were placed before them.

\---------

                Ben was in rare form at luncheon. He ate slowly, mindfully, and without much conversation.

                _After dinner_.

                Two smudged words on a piece of fine stationary, delivered by a maid, would not ordinarily weigh on him so heavily. The maid had done more than covertly press the message into his hand, though.

                "It's addressed to Mr. Dameron, but it's for you. Miss Rey trying to stay in Mr. Hux's good books, you see, and he doesn't know any Dameron. She wanted me to pass the note around to Mrs. Kanata, then have her give it to a servant who would give it to Mr. Dameron, who would give it to you, but that was too convoluted. So here I am, a regular Charlotte de Sauve! Well, without the- never mind." She had turned to leave, then faltered and became serious. "She likes you, you know. Fancies you, I mean. A blind man could tell you feel the same way. Just remember that she's got someone she's marrying in a few weeks. Don't do anything stupid."

                Ben had nodded. "Thank you, Miss...?"

                "Tico. Rose Tico."

                Now, Ben was thoughtful, borderline pensive. He heard Poe and Dai and Leslie talking, but he didn't hear what they were saying. Rey fancied him. He ought to be beaming. Why wasn't he beaming? He was sitting on a fine pine bench, eating roast beef with friends, and Rey, that beautiful creature who put Botticelli's angels to shame, returned his feelings. Yet he was less than quixotic. He would be in America in less than a week, seeing his mother in less than a month, and he would hold his porcelain enchantress tonight. He was phlegmatic.

                "Nervous," Poe whispered into his ear. Ben jumped, choking on his roast beef. "You're just nervous. Calm down, Chuckaboo."

                Ben sighed and threw back his head dramatically. "I can't. How can I? I don't know what she wants. _Expects_. Does she want more drinking and dancing? Does she want to talk about our great caper? It's driving me mad."

                "Madder, really," Poe said. Ben glared at him. "Just relax. Try to have a good day. Enjoy the amenities. It's nice topside. Distract yourself; read or something. Or, you know, I can try to keep the Frenchies out of our cabin if you need a little privacy-"

                "Poe!" Ben exclaimed, face red.

                Poe laughed. "Just remember that I offered."

                "Trust me, I'm not likely to forget."

                Poe drank deep from his water glass, gulping noisily. "I'm going up with Emily and Sarah. You should join us. Since you won't be spending any time with _Rosy_ -"  

                "Oh, for the love of Christ! I'll come with you."

                "I'd rather you do that on your own, actually." He smirked.

                Ben's face screwed up, then relaxed completely. "I'll join you, Poe Dameron, if you stop taking the piss."      

                "Deal."

\---------

                Armitage Hux was typically dour after luncheon. His sea-colored eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed, and his hair was a bit mussed from anxiously running his hands through it a few too many times.

                "Are you feeling alright, Armitage?" Rey asked. "You don't look well."

                He was escorting her to the Reading and Writing Room, something she thought unnecessary. Plenty of women went unescorted. Armitage insisted she be escorted everywhere. It would be sweet, she thought, if _he_ wanted to do it all the time. Instead, Finn and, unfortunately, sometimes Nines did the work for him. She walked on eggshells with her fiancé, chatted amiably with Finn, and wished Hell would swallow Nines.

                "I'm not ill. I'm disappointed." He sounded resigned, she thought.

                "What have I done this time?" Rey asked meekly.

                "It's the company you like to keep. Mme. Aubart, Lady Duff Gordon- I don't like you associating with these types of women."

                Rather than pick a fight, Rey chose a different route. "Mr. Guggenheim and Sir Cosmo are respectable, though. Mustn't I be cordial to their wives? And- and their _guests_?"

                "Cordial, yes," Armitage conceded. "You needn't be friends with them, especially when they have such reputations. Lady Duff Gordon makes- well, you know what she makes." He blushed, and it contrasted with his hair strangely. "Mme Aubart is a mistress. We don't associate with those."

                "I understand. It's like you said, though: I likely won't be seeing them again after we dock. If you keep your acquaintance with Mr. Guggenheim, we'll more than likely entertain Mrs. Guggenheim. Sir and Lady Duff Gordon don't even have a residence in New York. Christiana told me they're returning to London as soon as her business emergency is resolved. So please don't worry."

                "I know all of that, darling. The problem is that you have a pattern of making poor choices when it comes to friends. It's your father's fault, really, for not teaching you better-"

                "Armitage, stop." Rey took a fortifying breath. "My Papa did the best he could. My Mama was the one from money, and she died bringing me into this world. Papa didn't know what to do with a little girl. He taught me as best as he knew how. I had governesses. You blame a lot of things on him, when really it's just me. It's who and what I am. Don't blame my faults on my Papa. It's not right to speak ill of the dead anyway."

                Armitage smiled. "There you are." He ran his thumb from her temple to her chin. "There's the muddy girl I fell in love with."

                Rey scoffed. "If you loved that girl, why are you trying to change her?"

                "Not change," Armitage insisted. "Never change. Instruct."

                "Well, maybe I don't _want_ instruction. I can't stay _me_ while being told that everything I do is wrong." A mutinous tear fell from her eye.

                "Rey-" She jerked back as he tried to wipe away the evidence of her sadness and frustration.

                "Thank you for bringing me this far, Armitage. I can follow the signs to the Reading Room on my own from here."

                "Rey-"

                "I'll see you at dinner."

                He let her walk away, though she did not expect him to.

\---------

                When she was sad, she turned to Shakespeare- not his tragedies, as one might suspect, but his comedies. She opened _Twelfth Night_ , a particular favorite, and was sucked into the world of Viola and Sebastian. She skipped to her favorite parts, smiled, frowned, laughed, and even spoke aloud the lines she loved best.

                "If music be the food of love, play on," she whispered. "If music be the food of love..." Loud, boisterous music, banjos and fiddles and upright pianos, off-key singing and ragtime, heat and dancing, dancing, _dancing_ \- Yes. Music was indeed the food of love. She didn't know for certain what romantic love was, but music had to be a part of it. Perhaps that was why she had been thoroughly underwhelmed at the cinema when she had seen the short film "Twelfth Night". Oh, everything had _looked_ beautiful, but it had been missing something. Music. Orsino needed music, and now Rey knew that she did, too.

                She read on.

                _Art thou a comedian?_

_I am not that I play._

                She snorted, earning her glances and glares.

                Rey paid them no mind. She let herself fall further into Illyria, reading quickly at times, savoring other moments, and wishing she had even a fool who would strive to please her.

\---------

                When he was nervous, he thought that he engaged with people. Everyone else disagreed. He gave a series of high-pitched grunts and curt answers and generally made people uncomfortable.

                "So, Ben, Poe tells us Miss Rey will be coming to see us again," Emily said.

                "Yep."

                "Are you excited?" Sarah asked.

                "Yep."

                "Nervous?" Emily continued.

                "Yep."

                "You've got quite the vocabulary, don't you?" Sarah remarked.

                "Yep."

                "It's that expensive education at work. The man knows what, three languages? and he's reduced to single syllables." Poe smiled.

                "Uh-huh," Ben said playfully. "See?"

                "My mistake," Poe drawled. "He simply can't form sentences."

                "I can."

                "Sentences more than, I don't know, five words long, then."

                Ben took up the challenge. "This is a six word sentence."

                Emily and Sarah laughed raucously. "You two are something else," Sarah said.

                "Yep," Poe mimicked.

\---------

                Rose's hands were shaking a little as she laced Rey's corset. "Er, Miss? We might have a little problem." When Rey didn't reply, she continued. "Mr. Nines saw me sneak off. He was watching for you, I wager, but saw me go down instead. He cornered me about it."

                Rey froze. "I told you to give the note to Mrs. Kanata's people."

                "I know!" Rose lamented. "I was trying to simplify things, make sure everything got where it was supposed to go. There were three intermediaries with your plan, Miss. _Three_. There was a lot of room for error."

                "That makes sense. It was actually smart of you."

                "Don't act so surprised," Rose huffed.

                "I'm not!" Rey giggled. "But are you in trouble? What did Nines do?"

                Rose put her hands on her hips. "He interrogated me, that son of a b- but anyway. He kept asking why I'd gone below decks. I told him I was visiting someone. He asked if you told me to give a message to Mr. Solo, and I said no, because you didn't. I'd have lied if you _had_ told me to, but that's beside the point. He pressed me on who I went to see and I told him to mind his business, but you know how he is. And, well, if he hurt _you_ , Miss, I don't want to think what he'd do to me. So I said, 'I saw a Mr. Dameron, if you must know.' And he said, 'Does Mr. Dameron have a first name?' Then I acted mad and told him that my beau's name was none of his concern. I stormed off, but I'm afraid he might check with Mr. Dameron to see that I was there for him."

                Rey pulled Rose into a tight embrace. "I don't deserve you."

                "I know."

                They laughed together, and it calmed their nerves. "Poe is a good man, and he has a nose for trouble. If Nines goes skulking around, he and Ben will handle it."

                "I hope so. I suppose I shouldn't ask how you know so much about him or why you're calling him by his first name."

                "No."

                Rose shrugged. "I'll find out soon enough. We're only on the ship a few more days, and then you have no reason to keep it a secret. Mr. Hux insisted on the black-and-white this evening, right? It's so sparkly that it almost gives me a headache."

                For the first time it struck Rey that her absence would have a lasting effect on Rose. The little maid who could fix any seam in a jiffy and arrange her hair just so would be out of a job once she left. Simultaneously, Rey realized that Rose wasn't just her maid. Maybe it had begun that way, three long years ago, but it was different now. Rose was her friend- her _only_ friend. She was sassy and loyal and not exactly proper, and Rey loved her. What would become of her in New York when Rey was in Boston?

                She spoke with trepidation. "Rose, what do you think of Boston?"

                "I've never thought about it at all." She helped Rey into her gown. "Why?"

                "Nothing. It's just- I was wondering if you would like living there."

                "Are you dismissing me?" Her eyes were wide and round.

                "God, no! Never!"

                Rose sighed and did buttons at lightning speed. "Then why ask the question?"

                Rey paused, thinking of a plausible answer. "I've met a lot of people on board from there, and they all love it. I know we have to live in New York, but plenty of families have more than one house. So I thought 'Why not Boston?'"

                "You'll meet people in New York that you really like. Hopefully the city is as grand as they say. I'm sure we'll love it there. Come on now, I have something really exciting in mind for your hair. Something new. You'll really blind them tonight."

                "You know I hate all that sparkle."

                "Of course I do. That's why we have to overdo it; so Mr. Hux will never again insist you wear something so shiny. Oh, shall we put on the diamonds as well?"

                Rey smiled wickedly. "You're the evil genius. You tell me."

                "Hmm... just a few diamonds. You're still _my_ work of art, so I can't have you looking ridiculous."

                Rey wanted to tell Rose that she appreciated her. She wanted to tell her how much she would miss her, and how she missed her already. She wanted to thank her for caring, not just as a servant but as a person. Instead, she sat at her mirror and let Rose style her hair. She would leave her a note. With the note she would leave a reference letter Rose could use to get a new job. She would start writing in the morning. It would have to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon got nothing from his marriage to Lucy Christiana, leading a lot of people to think she married him for his money and title. The title did her no good because the courtiers were like, "Ew, you've had a divorce? Byeeeeeee". All signs point to them actually being in love, though they did frequently stay in different places because of business. Oddly, they bought their tickets using fake names, Mr. and Mrs. Mason. They were some of those unfortunate people who weren't supposed to be on the ship; Christiana had a fashion emergency in New York, and Cosmo went with her.  
> Sir Cosmo's Olympic medal is no longer recognized :( It was a Silver in fencing.
> 
> Charlotte de Sauve was a famous spy, part of Catherine de Medici's Flying Squadron. Rose doesn't want to be *exactly* like her because all of the Flying Squadron used sex to get information.
> 
> "Take the piss" has 2 alternate origin stories; one has it not originating until the 1930s. One has it dating back to the British "Age of Canals" when urine was used in textiles. Transporting urine wasn't considered particularly ~fancy (duh), so when asked what they were moving, boatmen would say wine. The response would typically be a good-natured, "No, you're taking the piss!"
> 
> I couldn't find what ANY White Star ship had in their Reading Room, so I guessed. I hate guesswork, but I thought Shakespeare was a logical choice. The silent film "Twelfth Night" that Rey references is only found in the filmographies of three actresses. I couldn't find anything more on it.
> 
> I have hit another research road block for the next chapter ;_; *channels Anakin* NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> Sorry it took me so long to reply to last week's comments. I'll be 100% honest... the expansion for Guild Wars 2 came out and I've been exploring the Crystal Desert.
> 
> Comments make me happy! I love talking with everyone! Your thoughts and insights influence the story ;)


	10. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know why you're here.  
> Have some filth, Fam!

                "I need a favor. Two favors, really."

                Rose had unbuttoned her ridiculously sparkly dress, unlaced her corset, and removed her jewelry. Rey, clad only in her undergarments, had rifled through her wardrobe, searching for something suitably simple. Her hands had found an opal-gray linen evening dress with little in the way of decoration; only a darker gray sash across the midsection cut into the pale fabric, and a single black ornament decorated the middle of the sash. Rey had thrust the gown at her maid expectantly.

                "You're going to see Mr. Solo," Rose had guessed.

                "Yes. Favor number one is you dressing me down for the trip."

                "And favor two?" The few buttons were hastily done up.

                "I want you to sleep in my bed. Put the covers over your face. I don't want Armitage to know I've gone, so if he checks, there will be somebody in the bed. He won't be bold enough to do anything more than peek in the door. He'll assume you're in your cabin, and everything will work out swimmingly."

                Rose had glared. "I have a bad feeling about this. I'm only doing it to test these first-class mattresses. Oh, and you'll have to buy me _another_ exceptional Christmas gift."

                "Naturally." Rey grinned and took the pins from her hair.

                And so it came to pass that Rose Tico slept quite soundly on B Deck while her mistress damned herself below.

\---------

                Rey's entrance wasn't quite so spectacular as it had been the night before. Maybe people recognized her, she thought, or perhaps Ben had warned them that she would be coming. She decided that the reason didn't matter and grabbed the nearest glass of beer. It burned her throat as she greedily gulped it, and she found her glass empty within a few seconds. The man next to her, gauche in a green striped suit, laughed heartily and clapped her on the back. Not entirely sure why, she joined him.

                "Dance?" he asked her, voice heavily accented.

                She nodded and took his hand. "I'm Rey."

                "Josef," he said, pointing to himself. Rey bobbed her head and followed him to where the circle of dancers had been. Tonight, it seemed, the Irish were taking a break. Josef spoke hurriedly, pointing to this person and that, introducing them, possibly, or naming the instruments they held. "Gusle, balalaika, kokle, zurna, davul-" Then he joined with the men and women singing. "Hej Sokoły!"

                "Hey! Hey! Hey!" chorused the crowd, repeating the one word common to all of their tongues.

                Men who knew how danced the hopak; men who didn't know how tried to learn and, more often than not, failed with a laugh. Roma women danced the čoček, delighting Rey. She giddily excused herself from Josef and watched the Roma more closely, how their movements were like water, how fleet and precise their footwork was. She started to mimic them, first with her hands. She lifted her arms to her shoulders, pretending she had linked fingers with someone, and let her wrists become supple. She practiced the little hop the women did after they shifted their weight forward. She tried to imitate the seductive twirl of hips that happened when the right leg was brought forward just so. She felt ridiculous, standing there alone counting out steps.

                So she joined in. Before she could chastise herself for brashness, she said to the woman next to her, "Don't let me leave if I get shy!"

                "No shy!" the woman responded over the drums. _Left back, left front, right forward, twist_ , and she stumbled. "Dance, don't think!" _Left back, left front_ , only that wasn't _quite_ it, was it? Rey closed her eyes and let the music do its work. The steps came; they may not have been the steps of the čoček, but they were the right steps.

                She ducked out two songs later. Warm hands found her waist and turned her to face Ben Solo.

                "You ought to join a troupe," he remarked. "Watching you was fun."

                Rey laughed. "They'd sack me within a week. I think I'll stick with you, if it's all the same."

                Ben sobered. "I'm glad." His hands hadn't moved. "Did you- did you have a particular reason for coming here tonight?"

                Rey winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't- I don't mean to cause you any inconvenience. I'll go now if you like. I want to tell you something, but then I'll go."

                "I didn't mean to imply- that is, I don't want-" He sighed. "Don't go yet." Rey nodded. "What did you want to tell me?"

                "Oh." Her skin was suddenly very hot. She realized that she hadn't thought out this part. All of her energy had gone into the machinations of getting to this point, but not beyond it. She inhaled sharply and looked about nervously. His hands hadn't moved. "May we go somewhere with more privacy?"

                Her hazel eyes were wide and shimmering. She was trembling, afraid of something. He hadn't moved his hands, and he didn't want to now. Yet she was determined and anxious, and he would move  mountains for her. The least he could do was move his hands. As he did, she clasped them in her own. Her breath hitched, and he thought he heard her whisper his name. Ben swallowed thickly. Holding her hand, he led Rey to a corner.

                "How long have you got?"

                "All night. I have a decoy in place." She grinned mischievously.  

                "Care to have a tour of the parts of the ship rich people are supposed to forget exist?"

                Rey pretended to be appalled. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been running about the boiler rooms?" She smiled widely. "I wonder what they look like in function. It's one thing to see blueprints, but to see something in action is a horse of a different color."

                Ben cocked his head, one side of his mouth pulling up. "I actually meant that I know where they keep the ice cream, but I'm sure we could find our way to the boilers if you wanted. I've built plenty of ships; there are only so many places to put them."

                She squeezed his fingers. "Ice cream sounds lovely."

\---------

                He led her aft and down. They were surrounded by things White Star didn't want them to know about: pantries and coolers, rooms full of soiled linens, and an omnipresent metallic grinding THUMP-THUMP-THUMP. Rey laughed as she took the stairs quickly, slipping down the final two. Ben caught her easily, also laughing.

                "How much did you have to drink?" One long dimple cut his cheek. Rey ran her naked fingers across his cheek, feeling the divot.

                "Only one glass. I kept my wits for a reason."

                "Oh?"

                "Ice cream first, explanations after." She tweaked his nose playfully. "Who do we ask for it?"

                "Ah- that's the thing. We don't." Ben flushed and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

                "You want to _steal_ ice cream?" Rey clarified. Ben nodded. "Have you at least done it before or do we need to come up with a plan?"

                "You're fine with it?" His eyes were wide.

                She shrugged one shoulder. "It's a victimless crime. It isn't as if we're stealing someone's personal property."

                Ben smirked. "I l- adore you," he faltered. "You stand right over there and be a beautiful diversion in case things go south. I did this two nights ago, so I'll just run that again. Got it?"

                "What's to get? I only _stand here_. I don't have anything exciting to do." She huffed and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

                "Hold that thought, someone's coming- Yes, Miss, you'll want to go up two flights of stairs."

                A mousy-haired man in a blue jacket with gold braiding eyed them. "You lost, Miss?"

                "I'm afraid so," Rey said, channeling her inner damsel-in-distress as Ben slipped into the ice cream freezer. "I came down the elevator and thought I'd make a request of the band. Imagine my surprise when it wasn't the same band that plays in the dining room! I suppose I got turned around trying to get back to civilization." She sniffed haughtily, eyes following Ben as he discretely sneaked around a corner with their treats. "I'd like you to direct me towards the elevator."

                "If you'll follow me-"

                " _No_ ," Rey insisted, "I can get there on my own. Tell me how. Please." She nodded and repeated what the officer said. "Thank you. On your way, then."

                Befuddled, the man went back the way he came.

                Ben emerged from behind the corner a few moments later, barely containing his laughter. "You're good at that."

                "I picked it up from Armitage," she grumbled, taking a small bowl of French ice cream. "I hate even pretending to be so callous."

                They ate in silence, sitting on a bench just outside the freezer. Rey paid attention to her spoon; Ben watched Rey. He studied the way her lips opened, the way they closed around the white dessert. He watched her lick her lips if a bit went astray. He watched, and watching led to imagining.

                He imagined those unpracticed lips on his, her cold tongue more confident in his mouth. He imagined her hands holding _him_ instead of that bowl and spoon. They would be unpracticed, too, but he knew she would be a fast learner, squeezing his cock just so and pumping him at a pace that would rip a scream from his throat. Then, Christ, then those cold lips would press against the head of him, shy and tentative at first, sending him into sensory overload. She might not be able to fit all of him into her mouth the first time, but she would try, and he would direct her to put her hands to good use as well. Then he would spill himself, and she would swallow all of it, taking part of him into her.

                _Oh_ , he imagined, and his imagination caused his trousers to become uncomfortably tight.

                "Ben," she began after some time, "What I wanted to tell you..." He could only grunt in response and hope she didn't see the evidence of his arousal. Her hands fidgeted. "I wanted you to know that I didn't ask you to kiss me because I was drunk." She flushed prettily, and Ben felt his cock grow harder. "I wanted you to know that I simply wanted to kiss you. Well, not _simply_." She was crimson now; he was clenching his fists. "I liked kissing you. I would like to do it again, if you had no objection-"

                He silenced her with his lips, letting his ice cream fall to the floor.

                Rey gasped a little in surprise, giving him an immediate opportunity to press his tongue into her mouth. Both of them were cold, their exchanged breath doing nothing to heat one another. She was more daring, pushing into his mouth boldly and twisting her fingers in his hair. He bit her bottom lip playfully and was rewarded with a deep, shaky inhale and the press of her breasts against him. Her spoon clattered as it hit the ground and she tried to move away, but he caged her with his arms and pulled her closer, putting her on his lap. Her fingernails dug into his scalp as he nipped her again. She made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan and bit his tongue _hard_.

                "Ow!" Ben cried, pulling away.

                "Was that wrong?" Rey asked. "I thought it felt good. I'm sorry, Ben! I'm such an idiot..."

                "You're not an idiot, you're just new at it," Ben said, stifling a chuckle. "So now you know one thing not to do. How's about you keep learning, huh?"

                Rey giggled just a bit. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?" Ben nodded. She turned even more red. "So one only bites lips? That's the only place it feels good?"

                "Oh, I didn't say that." Ben's pupils were wide and Rey shifted on his lap. He leaned in so that his voice was soft in her ear. "It feels good if I bite a little here." He moved down the column of her neck to the place where her collarbone showed. "Or right here." He stilled, suddenly stoic. "And a few other places."

                "Where?" Rey asked breathlessly. "I want to know."

                Ben cleared his throat and released her. "Nowhere proper to tell a lady." He leaned over to retrieve their fallen spoons and bowls, but Rey grabbed his shoulder, her hand trembling.

                "Then don't tell me," she said quietly. "Show me."

                "You don't know what you're asking," Ben choked out.

                "Yes I do. I'm asking you to... touch me. I want you to. I- I've thought about it. Imagined it. Imagined your hands... touching me. Last night. Today." She paused. "Please say something."

                "I've imagined it, too," he admitted, not moving, still staring at his shoes. "But I don't think you really want that."

                "Isn't that for me to decide?" she asked lightly. "And if we both want it... Then why not?"

                "Let's find somewhere private."

\---------

                They had wound their way aft through G Deck as quickly as they could, nervous and giddy. Ben was relatively certain that he knew where the extra blankets were kept; he was right. It took them longer than they would have liked, but Ben insisted upon being somewhere _soft_. That they ended up far from all of the food stores was just an added benefit.

                The blanket store room was blessedly empty. The pair found a spot behind a shelving unit and tore blanket after blanket from the shelves and lay them upon the floor. The result was a messy heap, but neither was concerned with how it looked.

                Rey was shaking from head to toe, a sheen of sweat already making her face glisten.

                "You're-"

                "Don't you _dare_ ask me if I'm certain," Rey said sternly. "I came down here without a corset. I'm certain. Now show me."

                Ben nodded, putting his hands on her shoulders, then lacing their fingers. He drew her in slowly, kissing the crown of her head. They simply held one another for a long moment. Rey breathed erratically. Ben's chin rested on her hair. They swayed, a poor imitation of dancing, and Rey wrapped her arms around his middle. She stood on tiptoe and nuzzled his neck, pressing a kiss to the place he said was sensitive. She scraped her teeth ever so lightly over the same spot, and Ben shook. His fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her hips and she groaned. He pulled away.

                "No," she said. "I think I'm one of those people who likes things to hurt a bit."

                Ben looked at her seriously. "I never want to hurt you."

                "I'm not asking you to _harm_ me. Just don't treat me like a flower." She smiled. "I'm tough."

                "Don't I know it," he replied, smiling. He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on every part of her. "Can I...?"

                "Don't ask," she whispered. "I trust you."

                His breath caught as he processed the words. He bit the inside of his cheek as he put his hands on her small breasts. Rey jolted as if shocked, but she didn't pull away. She watched him cup and squeeze her gently through her dress. She watched him trail trembling fingertips across the neckline of her gown. She watched her own hands begin to feel the hard planes of his chest through his rough shirt.

                "Skin," she hoarsely choked out.

                He shrugged off his suspenders as she fumbled with his buttons. She frowned when she found _another_ set of buttons beneath his shirtfront. Rey undid these four buttons and pulled his shirt and undershirt from his trousers. She spun around and gestured to her own buttons. It was a slow process; Ben's hands were shaking and her buttons were both smaller and more numerous. When she felt him untie her sash, she kicked off her slippers and faced him. Slowly her opal-gray dress slid from her shoulders and hung at her waist. She pushed it to the floor.

                She wore only her short stockings and slip. No one but her maid had ever seen her in such a state of undress. When Ben didn't immediately say anything, she crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. She heard a rustling of fabric, then felt Ben tug her forward. Oh.

                _Oh_.

                She greedily traced every muscle on his torso. He had various burns and scars that she paid special attention to. When she grazed his nipples, he tried to hold back a groan. Rey smiled and remembered how sensitive her own had been. She took her thumb and forefinger and pinched one gently. It hardened under her touch, and she repeated the action with the other. Suddenly he was gripping her shoulders, his eyes closed and his head thrown back.

                "Look at me," she murmured. He obeyed.

                She dipped her fingertips into the waistband of his trousers. He grabbed her wrist. "Not yet." She nodded. "Take off your stockings and lay down."

                She sat on the pile of blankets they had created and stripped off her stockings. He watched, still standing, with wide eyes and heavy breaths. Rey lay on her back, trying to find a comfortable position. Ben got to his knees and slid a hand up her slip. She jerked to a seated position. He shook his head and touched her shoulder with his free hand, urging her to lay down again. "It will make what comes later more comfortable."

                "How do you know?" Her voice took a sharp, desperate edge. "How many women have you had?"

                Ben avoided her gaze. "More than I'd like to admit." His hand rested on her knee. "None of them meant anything to me. You're the first one who has meant anything," he said earnestly.

                "How do I know you aren't lying? You may say that to all of them. Swear it to me, Ben. Swear on something that matters."

                "I swear, Rey. I swear on my life. On my family's lives. I swear on the graves of my grandparents. I'll swear it before God himself if you ask it of me."

                She didn't know if she believed him. She wasn't sure it mattered. Something was urging her to do _this_ , _now_ , with _him_. She hoped it was something Divine and not just a base instinct. She gave a curt nod.  

                He moved. He kissed her sweetly, running his hands down her face. "I swear it, Rey." His hands ghosted over her breasts as they made their way back down her body. He pushed her slip up to her thighs, still preserving her modesty, while his fingers danced toward her core.

                They shuddered in tandem at his touch. He toyed with her slick folds, relishing the little noises she made. Ben found her clit and circled it with his thumb. Rey's hips bucked and she cried out, a high-pitched noise that went straight to his groin. He slid a finger into her and pushed it in and out slowly, timing the thrusts with nudges of his thumb. She was biting her lip and digging her fingernails into the flesh of her arms. He added another digit, and Rey keened. He scissored his fingers, stretching her tight passage as best he could.

                "It's so much better when you do it," Rey gasped.

                "Just wait," Ben said, smirking.

                He removed his fingers from her, eliciting a sound of protest. When he hitched her slip up to her belly, she became confused. "It unbuttons in the back. It won't go over my head." But he gave her inner thigh a playful bite and positioned his face between her spread legs.

                "Oh _fuck_ , Ben!" Rey cried. He licked her slit and she nearly came undone. His tongue dove in and out of her, devouring her. She writhed; he held her in place. When he began circling her clit with that wicked tongue, then hummed against it, then toyed with her using his mouth and fingers all at once, she saw white and heard a scream. As she felt some strange, shattering relief crash over her, she realized that the scream had been hers. "Get this slip _off of me_ ," she demanded. He made to tear it. "No! It's my best one!" She quaked in the aftermath of her first orgasm as his slippery fingers undid her buttons. He yanked the slip over her head viciously and made for her breasts. "Take off your trousers. Now." Ben's shoes, socks, trousers, suspenders, and drawers joined the pile of clothes.

                The pair looked at each other briefly before colliding. Their mouths clashed inelegantly; Rey could taste herself on Ben's tongue. Their hands grabbed and fondled, not taking the time to savor and worship. What had started as a reverent Mass had turned into a heathen exploit. Rey kept her eyes open the whole time, savoring every profane movement and reveling in each obscene sound. Their panting, the slapping sound of flesh on flesh, their grunts and moans- she meant to catalogue it all.

                When she put her fingers on his throbbing erection, leaking with pre-come, he didn't question her readiness. He slowed his breathing, lay on his back, and let her set their pace.

                She lowered herself onto him slowly, wincing at the burn and stretch. She was motionless for nearly half a minute. Then she took Ben's hands and put them on her hips, braced herself on his shoulders, and started rocking. She could feel his cock twitch inside of her, a strange but wonderful sensation. He watched her breasts bounce prettily and brushed his knuckles against a nipple as she found a rhythm. She grit her teeth and rolled her hips, pushing down as he thrust up.

                "Fast learner," he panted.

                "Stop talking. I want to hear us."

                He obeyed.

                When Ben could feel himself coming close to his peak, he reached a hand between them and toyed with Rey once more. She sobbed and he felt her impossibly tight walls clench. He filled her just as she was beginning to climax.

                Rey rolled off of him, peppering his face with kisses. They lay together, their breathing and the engines a heady white noise.

                "Thank you," Ben said.

                "For what?"

                "For letting it be me. You could have anyone, but you let it be me."

                Rey snuggled close to him. "I don't want tonight to end."

                "All good things," Ben sighed. "We should probably get you back to your room. I'm guessing Miss Tico is your decoy, and you don't exactly look alike."

                "She's also shorter than me by a fair amount."

                They dressed in silence, Ben helping Rey with her many buttons. They kicked their blanket pile up against a shelving unit, laughing as they did. Holding hands, they climbed the nearest staircase to F Deck, then went up to E Deck. At the elevators, Rey stopped.

                "I'm not going back just yet," she said. "You can still walk the deck, right? Just in Third Class areas. We're going for a late-night stroll. If you'd like."

                "Of course."

\---------

                They walked the starboard side of the ship. The water was still and the air calm. Rey lay her head on Ben's shoulder. She didn't know anyone in Third Class who would snitch to Armitage. She would do as she damn well pleased.

                "You know, I boarded this ship feeling like my life was over. I don't know what's going to happen, but things are going to be okay for me. I can feel it. And it's all because of you." She smiled up at him, glowing.

                Ben could say it. He knew he could. It was just a word. It was an important word, but Poe was right. It was just a word.

                "Rey," he said almost meekly, "I need to tell you something."

                "What is it?" She was beaming. Happy. So was he.

                "Rey, I-"

CLANG-CLANG

CLANG-CLANG

CLANG-CLANG

                "ICEBERG, RIGHT AHEAD!"

               

                      

                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pause for dramatic effect*  
> Hello, Reylos! It is now 11:40 PM on Apr. 14, 1912.
> 
> Josef Drazenovic was from Hrastelnica, Croatia.  
> "Hej Sokoły" is a Polish folk song that was widely known throughout Eastern Europe. Thank you to Fernn, who corrected me when I initially said the song was Ukrainian. 
> 
> Guys, I WANTED to give you car sex. I really did. I specifically wanted to give you guys sex in the same type of car Ben stole once upon a time. I looked at the cargo lists and insurance claims filed to see what types of cars were on board. The only one we know *for sure* was on board is the Renault car, as seen in the '97 film. "Well," I said to myself, "that's fine, but which hold was the car in?" Didn't even matter, friends, because the car was in a wooden crate. Car sex was therefore off the table. The ship's blueprints were still open in another tab and I saw that there was an *entire room* for ice cream, so I had to use the ice cream room. I also didn't want them going at it anywhere near the ice cream room (or any of the other food rooms). So, sex in the blanket store!  
> Little bb Rey, all grown up and taking charge of her sexuality. 
> 
> People like to forget Edwardian undergarments. Rich women usually wore seven undergarments (!); all men wore two. Rey was very purpose-driven, so she left most of her delicates upstairs. 
> 
> Going through the inventory manifests was really interesting. There was some weird stuff on that ship. 117 cases of sponges, for instance, and 4 cases of opium, even though the US already had anti-opium laws in place. People also shipped a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF CHEESE. I'm talking thousands of pounds of cheese being shipped by American Express and other companies. The mind boggles. 
> 
> Longest chapter yet, and it was so trashy! Comments keep my mind in the gutter and generally boost my self-esteem. Let's chat!


	11. Gone

                Rey was frozen. It wasn't the air, though the temperature was biting as midnight approached. It wasn't the persistent CLANG-CLANG of bells that kept her motionless, nor was it the frantic shouting and running, running, _running_ of the crew in their smart blue jackets. As a great white wall approached on the starboard side, what held Rey in place was a memory.

                _"I'd rather be looking at these blueprints and design drawings, I assure you." She leaned closer to Mr. Andrews's desk. "Are these little pointed ovals the lifeboats?"_

                Ben clasped Rey's upper arm, sensing her distress. "We're reversing," he said. "Can you feel it? We're turning." Rey nodded dumbly, or thought she did. One of her hands covered Ben's.

                "It won't matter. We'll still hit it," she murmured.

                _Mr. Andrews pulled forth another design drawing and lay it flat across his desk. It was_ Titanic _from the starboard side. He pointed to one, then another, then another vertical bar. "Sixteen bulkheads that go all the way to E Deck, some higher." He traced lines on the paper, and Rey's eyes followed his fingers greedily. "And I can't fail to mention the watertight doors. They have a modified design and multiple closing mechanisms. Now, look. You see the compartments, all in a row there?" Rey nodded. "If, God forbid, water does get in, we close the doors. The ship can stay afloat with four compartments completely flooded. Does that assuage your fears?"_

                "Why do you say that?" Ben asked.

                _"You have built the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she breathed, eyes never leaving the design drawings. She traced intricate lines and figures with her fingers, cocking her head and doing sums silently. Her gaze lingered on the rudder and she frowned ever so slightly, brow crinkling in thought._

                "The rudder is too small."

                The deck beneath them shook as the ship slid against the iceberg, screeching like a wounded animal, grinding like rusted gears trying to click and turn, with the effect of nails on slate. They held one another for stability, but Rey faltered in her slippers. Ben grabbed her healing wrist and hunks of ice fell around them. The noise, a telegraph of metallic triturating, lasted only a minute, but it resonated through their bones, shaking them like gelatin for longer.

                And then it was over, a curious anomaly on an otherwise calm night.

                The few other passengers on the boat deck chuckled nervously. Some young men kicked larger chunks of ice, making a game of it. Crew members looked on anxiously and indulgently. The danger had passed by a hair's breadth; they would let the youths have their fun.

                Rey and Ben weren't feeling quite so spritely. They sat together on a pair of deck chairs and conversed solemnly.

                "I don't want to frighten you," Ben said, "but there's no way that thing didn't punch a hole in the hull."

                Rey gave a weak half-smile. "I'm not afraid. I've seen the blueprints and talked at length with Mr. Andrews about the safety measures of the ship. Five- no, I think he said four of the watertight compartments can be filled in a row and the ship will stay afloat. Unless that was one extremely long gash, I suspect we'll be fine."

                Ben looked at her dubiously. "We'll have to hope it was a small hole, then, and let the pumps do their work."

                Rey took his hands in hers and brought his fingers to her lips. She kissed each of his knuckles gently. "Everything will be fine. I know it will. It's going to take more than ice to ruin today for me."

                "Yeah," Ben agreed, lips quirking. "It's been remarkable. April fourteenth. I might have to mark it as the best day of my life." Rey flushed. Ben knew that he could say it now. There would be no bell to interrupt him. He should say it now. "Rey, I want you to know that I-"

                A gaggle of men rushed by them, frantic. Some wore uniforms, others wore dressing gowns. Blueprints and design drawings were half-opened. Voices raised were promptly hushed. Rey recognized two of the faces. Mr. Andrews and Mr. Ismay were among those rushing towards the bridge. Officers on deck began to look nervous, began to exchange worried glances. Someone suggested to Rey and Ben that they return to their cabins. Instead, Rey pulled Ben with her as she followed the curious group of men.

                They were naturally denied entrance to the bridge. Rey tapped her foot impatiently, rebuffing any suggestion that she get out of the cold. Ben stood behind her, warming her arms. He couldn't tell her now. Not while she was so anxious. Rey leaned her head back against him and sighed in frustration.

                "What do you think they'll tell _us_ that they wouldn't wake the rest of the ship to tell?" Ben asked. "Why would they tell _us_ something when the rest of the passengers will have to wait until morning to find out?"

                "I don't know," Rey replied testily. "But I have a _feeling_."

                Ben intended to try to calm her. Unfortunately, voices from the bridge rang loud and clear.

                "This ship cannot sink!"

                "She's made of iron, sir! I assure you she can, and she will. It is a mathematical certainty."

                Rey turned slowly to face Ben. She looked up into his eyes. "That sounded like Mr. Andrews," she whispered. "He designed _Titanic_." She bit her bottom lip and felt tears form. "If he says it's so, then it's so."

                He pulled her to his chest and felt her dry sob. "Let's see what we're told to do." He ran a comforting hand down her spine, though he wasn't sure which of them he was trying to comfort. "There's no use panicking." He felt her nod and heard her sniffle. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. She smelled like sweat and detergent, and he thought that it was possibly the most erotic thing in the world. He let his mind drift to just an hour ago, the two of them tangled in a heap of blankets, slick and sated.

                The men filed out of the bridge briskly and Rey leapt from his arms.

                "Mr. Andrews!" she called, hair lanky and tangled. Thomas Andrews faced her, grim and solemn. "Tell me." She said no more than those two words; he appraised her face, then nodded sadly.

                "Get in a boat, quick as you can. They'll be taking the tarps off soon. You remember our discussion about the boats, don't you?"

                Rey blanched. "Acutely. You must take one as well." He smiled wanly, and Rey understood. There was no leaving for this man. "There's a ship on its way? We'll be alright. We will."

                "Captain Smith has just ordered the distress signal broadcast. I won't lie to you, Rey. Two hours is all we have. _Get to a boat_. Tell only who you must. I have to go. We have to coordinate the pumps."

                Rey kissed him on the cheek. "It has been a sincere pleasure knowing you, sir."

                "And you." He hesitated. "I wish I had built you a stronger ship."

                And then Thomas Andrews was gone.

                Rey and Ben faced one another, neither speaking. What did one say at a time like this? They linked their fingers and Rey led him towards her stateroom. Ben tugged back, trying to keep her on deck, but she wouldn't be stopped. She _yanked_ and he followed obediently. There were men and women in the corridors holding life vests, knocking on doors. The occasional passenger poked their head out to ask what was happening. The crew didn't even seem to know. A steward told Mrs. Baxter that it was likely a drill and that she oughtn't worry.

                Rey pushed into her cabin and flew immediately into the bedroom. She shook Rose awake violently.

                "I didn't eat that marmalade..." Rose mumbled.

                "Get up," Rey said, pulling the covers off of the bed. "The ship is sinking."

                Rose's eyes popped open. "That's one way to wake me up." She yawned. "Not funny, but... why are you looking at me like that?" Rey pulled Rose to her feet and hunted down the maid's clothes. "Bleeding Christ, are you- you're not _serious_?!"

                "Get dressed and get to a boat. We still have other people to wake." Rey searched for gloves and coats. She put on her seal skin boots. "Is everyone where they're supposed to be?"

                "Far as I know," Rose said, swiftly buttoning her dark blue uniform. "Who do you want me to get? If we go separately it'll be faster."

                " _You're_ going straight to a lifeboat," Rey instructed. "I've got friends in Third Class, so I'm going to get everyone on my way down." She glanced at the clock on her vanity. Ten past midnight.

                "No," Rose countered. "I'm not going to let you waste time going down for Mr. Solo."

                "I'm not. _He's_ in the sitting room, and I haven't told him I plan to go down there."

                Rose straightened, adjusting a fur hat on her head. "Well, I'm helping."

                Rey pulled at her hair. "Fine. You get Finn and Nines; I have no idea where they sleep. Then you have to get to the boats because Rose, _listen to me_! There aren't enough for everyone. Not by half. And I don't know what I'd do if you didn't... So hurry. If they haven't started boarding yet, they will soon."

                Rose sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and squared her shoulders. She marched into the sitting room with Rey and turned her attention to Ben, who was pacing anxiously by the door. "Don't you take her with you. If you love her, you won't take her with you."

                "I'm going for Poe, and it'll likely be a Birkenhead," Ben replied. Rose's face fell.

                "Is there no point in getting Finn, then?"

                "Why would you say that?" Rey cried. "We can't go without Finn!"

                "Miss," Rose said calmly, taking Rey's hand, "If what you say is right and there's only enough boats for half..."

                "It'll be the ladies and children getting in the boats. That's a Birkenhead: women and children first," Ben elaborated quietly.

                "That's not the _law_ though, is it?" Rey asked, panicking. "They can't decide who lives and who dies. They can't be _God_." She rushed about the room, grabbing jewelry from the safe and what paper money she could find. "We'll pay them. We'll pay them to let us all on a boat. Me and you and Rose and Finn and Armitage and Poe and the woman who sings badly and the man I danced with and-"

                " _Rey_ ," Ben said harshly, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Get to a boat. Poe and I will be fine. They'll let men on eventually, and we've got a couple hours. But I have to hurry if I want to get to him in time." He placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. "I'll be fine. All of our plans- it's all going to work out. But it all starts with you getting in a boat."

                She began to cry in earnest. "Promise me," she sobbed. "Promise me you'll hurry. Promise you'll come back to me as fast as you can, and bribe your way into a boat if you have to." She thrust a wad of bills at him. "Pay for a spot if you must."

                He closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. "Let's do what we have to, Rey. Go on now. You and Rose, up to the deck. Stewards will wake the rest." He smiled as he exited to the corridor.

                And then Ben was gone.

                Rose clasped Rey's hand as she cried. "Shh... It's okay. Half the people on the ship can't be women, and he's awful tall, so that means he runs fast."

                "We have to at least get Armitage and Finn. Nines, too, much as I despise him."

                Rose laughed weakly. "I know. You stay up, I'll go down. Like you said, you don't know where Finn and Nines sleep." Rey pulled her into a tight hug. "Don't fret, Miss. We'll all meet up again soon."

                "Right here. Right outside this room," Rey instructed.

\---------

                When Rey knocked on his door, she was pleased to find Armitage still awake and dressed. She was even more pleased to find that Finn was with him.

                "Rey, what on Earth are you doing up at this hour? And dressed like that?" Armitage appraised her clothing; her heavy coat, her seal skin boots, her gloves, her hat, her muff, and the life vests in her arms all confused him.

                "May I come in? It's important."

                "Finn and I were just playing Egyptian Ratscrew. What's the problem, darling?"

                Rey took a deep breath. "We've hit ice. The ship is sinking."

                "It's not possible," Armitage said. Rey thrust a life belt at him. "This ship can't sink."

                "Well, she can't float!" Rey snapped. "I spoke with Mr. Andrews personally. Two hours, he told me. That was more than fifteen minutes ago. And Ben said it would be a Brickle- Birkle- Birkenhead... thing, so the faster _you_ get on deck, the more likely you are to not drown."

                Finn immediately took a life belt, though he did not put it on.

                Armitage narrowed his eyes. "Ben? Ben _who_?"

                "Oh, for God's sake, Armitage, now is not the time. I'm telling you that half of the people on this ship will die. Put on your life belt and let's meet up with Rose so we can get a boat!"

                Slowly Armitage fastened his life vest; Finn did the same. Finn brought his master's coat, scarf, and hat and helped him into them. "Are we meeting _Ben_?"

                Rey scoffed. "No. Stop being like this. Let's go; we're to meet Rose outside my room."

                "But _Ben_ won't be there?"

                "No," Rey said emphatically. "Please, let's just go."

                Armitage pursed his lips. "Alright, but this discussion isn't over."

                Rey huffed and walked the few meters to her stateroom. _Oh, yes it is_ , she thought.

                Stewards were knocking on doors more impatiently now, handing life vests to all who answered. Not all who answered chose to leave. As for those who didn't answer, the stewards simply moved along. Rey had to fight the impulse to bang on every door until the occupants awoke and scream at the passengers to _go, you'll die if you don't!_ She held her tongue and her temper because Ben Solo had to survive. He had to.

                It dawned on her that she didn't just _want_ him to survive. She didn't need him to survive solely because he was going to help her get to Boston. She needed him to survive for another reason. She liked him. She knew that much; she wouldn't have made love to him if she hadn't liked him. It felt different, though. She liked Finn. She liked Rose. She felt a certain passion towards Ben. Did she- could she possibly _love_ him? Rey knew herself well enough to admit that she didn't know what love, _true love_ , felt like. She envied the love of Hud and Bessie Allison. She envied the love of the Duff Gordons, and even that of Mr. Guggenheim and his mistress. They all had different kinds of love, yet they were all _in love_. Maybe, she thought, she was trying too hard to put love in a box- to make it fit a mold. Maybe it wasn't _supposed_ to be the same for everyone.

                Rose approached with Nines as Rey was re-working her paradigm.

                "Oh, thank _God_ you found Finn. I nearly lost my sh- Anyway, I suppose we should go topside now, yeah?"

\---------

                There were three sailors in Lifeboat 7.

                "No call for women and children first," Armitage remarked dryly. "It's only a matter of time, I suppose. Best hop in now."

                Finn helped Rose into the boat. She scratched the head of a little Pomeranian dog. The rest followed. The boat began to lower.

                "Wait!" Rose cried. "There's room for more! We're only half full!"

                "This is no time to be a bleeding heart," Armitage said. "Mr. Andrews told Rey-" All blood drained from his face, and the distress rocket in the air made his skin glow a sickly yellow. "Where is Rey?" He stood, searching all of the faces in the vessel. "Rey!?" Frantically he turned to one of the crewmen. "Stop lowering the boat. My fiancée isn't aboard yet." When the ropes continued to slowly send the boat towards the sea, he began to shout. "Stop, I tell you! She's nearby; she was just with me!"

                Armitage's pleas were ignored.

                Rey was gone.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey's flashbacks are from Chapter 3.
> 
> Her thoughts on the rudder being too small are a rather modern theory:  
> There were exactly 37 seconds between Frederick Fleet ringing the bell and the collision. Murdoch called for a full reverse and a hard to starboard. This was exactly the right thing to do. Mariners today say that it's what they would do _now_. This is why it's theorized that the rudder was too small; the ship ought to have been able to turn quickly enough. 
> 
> "She's made of iron, sir!"- taken from the Cameron film.
> 
> Egyptian Ratscrew- a card game similar to War
> 
> "Well she can't float!" - taken from "A Night to Remember". Thomas Andrews says it in that film. I wanted both of his iconic film lines, so I had Rey say this one ;)
> 
> Lifeboat 7 was the first to launch from the starboard side. The call for women & children only had not yet been made. Sadly, I had to take artistic license; lifeboat 7 only held 1st class & crew. I needed it to have Finn and Rose, who would have been staying in 2nd Class because they were servants. It was lowered carrying between 28 and 30 people (accounts differ) despite being able to hold 65. The first distress rocket was launched simultaneously. 
> 
> I am SO sorry that I haven't been responding to comments. I appreciate them so, so much. Life has become a Hot Mess (tm). It's actually sheer luck that this was completed in time. I usually write on the weekends, but I wrote this chapter on Thurs/Fri. The Hot Mess began Friday night and has yet to subside.  
> I do love hearing from everyone! I'll try my best to reply to comments as usual, but any promises would be empty :(
> 
> LET'S SQUEE ABOUT THAT TRAILER, THOUGH. WHAAAAAAAT????? OUR CROPS ARE WATERED, OUR SKIN IS CLEAR, AND VALIDATION SMELLS SO GOOD.


	12. For Love

                It is curious, what one will do for love.

                Love can make a man run headlong into a sinking ship, searching for his closest friend.

                Love can make a woman abandon sense and flee from safety.

                Love can make a man take drastic measures to bring that woman back to him.

\---------

                Ben was too impatient to wait for an elevator. He ran down the stairs, the ones the haughty hoi polloi weren't meant to see, two at a time. He ran past the men playing their banjos and fiddles. He ran as fast as he could, though he didn't know why. It hardly mattered.

                He was going to die. Here, on this ship, in the middle of the Atlantic, Ben Solo was going to die.

                Once the women and children were in the boats, they would call for gentlemen. Not servants. Not men who had won their tickets in games of five-card. _Gentlemen_. He hadn't been a gentleman for some time. It occurred to him now that he never could be again. His parents would never know that he was sorry. They would never know that he was on his way home to them. He dearly hoped that Maz wouldn't tell them his fate. Let them think that he hated them. He didn't want to imagine his mother's face if she knew he had died. Better to let her think him alive and ungrateful.

                He threw open his cabin door with perhaps too much force and shook Poe violently.

                "Get up. We have to get Emily and Sarah, and any kids we can find."

                Poe yawned. "What are you talking about, Chuckaboo? I just fell asleep."

                "Yes, well, you and I will be sleeping again soon enough. We've hit ice. There aren't enough lifeboats by half. We have to get the girls."

                "You're- you're serious?" Poe furrowed his brow. "Bleeding Christ, you _are_. But how do you know?"

                "I can explain as we go. We have-" he checked his pocket watch- "less than an hour and a half."

                Poe put on his shoes and coat. Ben grabbed his own jacket. Poe strode out of the cabin first. Ben hesitated, then shook the Frenchwoman awake. He offered no explanation; surely someone would be by soon. He couldn't in good conscience leave that woman asleep when he had the opportunity to help. She cursed at him as he exited; he left the cabin door open.

                The pair rushed aft. Near Emily's room was a large group of people, some of whom Ben knew by name and others he knew only by sight.

                "Emily!" Poe cried, rushing through the group to embrace her. "There's a bit of a problem, doll."

                "Do you mean the iceberg?" Emily asked.

                Ben's jaw dropped. "If you know, why are you not wearing your lifebelts and going to the deck?"

                "The steward said it was nothing to worry about. I woke up when I felt the engines stop. Frank felt it actually hit, so he woke Emily and Frankie. Where is Frankie?"

                "Listen," Ben said, strained but patient, "I've talked to Thomas Andrews himself. The steward was wrong. The ship is sinking."

                "Sinking?" Sarah gasped. "But she's supposed to be unsinkable."

                "I wish I had the time to explain. Get your coats and go up. Wake who you can. Go on now."

                The women scattered. Mr. Frank Goldsmith remained. "Now that the more delicate ears are gone, would you tell me what you know?"

                Ben rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "We hit on the starboard side. Too many watertight compartments are flooded. There are only enough lifeboats for half of us."

                Frank nodded. "The female half, I presume?"

                Ben shrugged. "I hope."

                "We can't tell them that," Poe said somberly. "They have to believe that everyone can survive or they'll panic." The other two men nodded their assent silently.

                Then there was a far-off scream, high-pitched and feminine. Ben had heard that scream before, on a day that he remembered fondly. He had heard it on the day he held her hand.

                _Rey_.

                She was supposed to be in a boat. Why wasn't she in a boat? Poe grabbed his jacket to stop him as he ran towards the bow, but Ben was too fast. Poe kept pace behind him, sighing. He really couldn't take Ben anywhere.

                 

\---------

                Rey realized that she was lost as soon as the lift stopped. She had come to Steerage with the single-minded purpose of finding Ben, but she hadn't thought it through. She didn't know her way around this part of the ship. She doubted she could find even the ice cream freezer again. She wasn't sure what deck Ben was staying on, port or starboard, fore or aft. She took the now-familiar stairs to F Deck. There were still a few people awake and chatting, though there was no music or dancing. Too panicked to be shy, Rey approached the first group of people she saw.

                "Sorry, excuse me, but have you seen Ben Solo?" she asked. Three men in Ottoman clothing pointed to their ears and mouths, indicating that they couldn't understand. "Ben Solo," she said loudly, enunciating. She drew her hand up to about his height, pouted, and prodded her ears' orbit. When they shook their heads, she tried again. "Poe Dameron?" More head shakes. Rey spun on her heel and let herself shriek.

                The next group was a little better. A family with a boy just a few years her junior was nearby. She wasn't fortunate enough to have them speak English, but she knew a few words of German. Emphasis on _few_.

                "Wie gehts! Er, that's not right. Hallo," Rey tried, smiling. "Haben Sie- that is, wo ist Ben Solo?"

                The teenager scratched his chin. "Verstehen Sie Deutsch?"

                "What?"

                The boy shook his head and laughed. He pointed towards the port side. "Ben und Poe, ja?"

                "Ja. Yes. Thank you!" She scrambled in the direction he had indicated, nearly tripping.

                The corridors were narrow and empty. They were stark white, a sterile contrast to the warm, rich colors she was used to. She kept one gloved hand against the wall. The heels of her boots _clacked_ as she strode with determination. She was walking, but she wasn't finding anyone.

                Hesitantly, Rey called his name. She didn't raise her voice too loudly; it wouldn't do to have too many people wake up. Just that quickly, her stomach churned. _Half of the people on this ship are going to die. Half of them. Soon_. She had to find Ben. She called his name again, then Poe's. No one on the port side of F Deck seemed to be stirring. She fought the urge to knock on a door and demand answers from whomever opened it. There was no guarantee that they would speak English, and she needed these people to stay asleep so that she and Ben could live.

                She took measured steps, calling for Ben and Poe every ten seconds.

                Rey tried to focus on the counting. She had to. She kept her gaze straight ahead. She wouldn't look at the cabin doors. Every step she took was a choice. Every door she passed without knocking was a choice. She was choosing to let these people stay abed. No one had come to warn them of the danger yet. Surely _she_ ought to. It would be the Christian thing to do. But she kept putting one foot in front of the other, taking deep breaths, and dragging her fingers along the walls. She would go to Confession in Boston. She would suffer eternal Hell. Not all of them could be saved. She would be damned if she let Ben Solo die when it could be a faceless stranger behind a door.   

                Eventually she came upon a steward. "Why haven't you woken the children?" The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "Why aren't you passing out lifebelts?"

                The man looked her up and down. "I don't think you belong down here, Miss. You need help finding the lifts?" He took her elbow in his hand. She jerked away.

                "No, but I need help finding my friends. Do you know where Ben Solo and Poe Dameron are?"

                "Can't say as I do, Miss. You'll want to be heading up now. Let me show you the way."

                "I said no. I'm not going without my friends." She put her hands on her hips and tilted her chin up imperiously. "You need to start giving life vests to the women and children, and you need to avoid a panic. Help me find my friends or I'll scream at the top of my voice that this ship is sinking."

                The steward wasn't impressed. "Right," he drawled. "I suppose you'll tell me next that you're the bloody Queen." He brushed past her.

                Rey screamed.

\---------

                It had been a tricky thing, getting out of a lifeboat as it was lowering. For that kind of reward money, though, Nines couldn't pass up the opportunity. Besides, the boats were taking men. Why Mr. Hux insisted upon chasing a girl who obviously didn't love him was beyond Nines, but Armitage Hux paid far too well for him to ask questions. So Nines stood on the boat deck, watching prissy women hold their dogs and hat boxes, and wondered if he should even bother to look for the girl.

                It was obvious where she had gone. She was chasing that vagabond. It would be so easy to simply stay here, wait for boats to depart, and hop in one later. He could explain himself to Mr. Hux. She wasn't anywhere to be found. He had searched high and low, but to no avail. On a ship of over two thousand people, it was certainly believable. He got in a boat at the very last minute. Better yet, the boat he was in was the last to launch. Yes, that would be the ticket.

                Nines walked to the port side for a boat. It wouldn't do for Mr. Hux to see him in a lifeboat before the rescue ships came. He stood in a small huddle of people near a newly uncovered boat. They were chatting about nonsensical things. How soon would they be back on the ship? My, what an inconvenience! Those words went in one ear and out the other. The next words he heard, loudly proclaimed, chilled him to the bone.

                _Women and children only_.

\---------

                Ben ran. He ran through familiar white corridors, pine and metal. He brushed past people who had never gone to sleep. He brushed past people who had been awoken by the engines stopping or the ice. He didn't apologize properly when he bumped into someone. If he inadvertently nudged a lady, he would mumble a monosyllabic pardon and keep going. Poe, a few steps behind, offered proper apologies on his behalf.

                It was undeniably Rey's voice, her frantic scream. Why was Rey here? She should have been gone by now. She should have been _safe_.  

                And then a rumbling chorus joined the high-pitched siren call. It was almost like thunder, but with a slightly metallic ting to it. A jumble of other voices came, shouting, incomprehensible: English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, French, German, Swedish, Danish, Arabic, Croatian, Serbian, Polish, Russian, Chinese, Greek, Hungarian, Finnish, Italian, Portuguese- Ben couldn't make out the words, the languages all blending together at a distance. They knew, he realized. They knew and they were panicking. If they were headed for Rey, if they were stampeding, they could hurt her.

                He ran faster.

\---------

                Rats had never frightened Rey. She always thought of them as fat cousins to field mice, and she found mice cute. That had never stopped her from setting a cat loose when she saw one; it was only practical.

                Seeing hundred of rats pour through the corridor scared her. For them to flee en masse like that, something had to be very, very wrong.

                She stopped her long scream and stared at the steward. Rats scrambled over their feet, squeaking shrilly. Rey yelped when one hit above her boots. "Ready to wake the women and children now? Even the vermin are afraid." The man nodded and tried again to lead her away. She stood resolute, a river of rodents rushing past. "I'm still looking for someone." The distant rumble of voices reached her ears, coming from the starboard side. "No," she whispered. They knew. _They_ _knew_ , and those women would get places in the boats and Ben would _die_. She called for Ben in earnest then, desperate to find him and keep him.

                The sound of her own name being called was a beacon. She flew to him, and he to her, and they met with an inelegant kiss.

                "You beautiful idiot," Ben said. "You were supposed to be gone by now."

                "Not without you," Rey replied. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his chastely.

                "There's time for that later, kids," Poe said. "I think we've all got someplace to be."

                "Come on," Rey insisted. "They haven't said only women and children yet. Or they hadn't when I left. We have to go before they do."

                "We've got friends waiting. You go back up and we'll meet-"

                "No, Ben," Rey said firmly. "I'm staying with you."

                He pulled away from her slightly and looked her in the eyes. "Half, Rey. Half of the people-"

                "I know," she replied, lowering her gaze. "I can't let you be one of them." He thought he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes, but when he looked again, it was gone. "The only way I know you'll go is if I don't let go of you. I'd shackle us together if I could. Now, let's get your friends and get to the lifts. Lead on."

                As Ben, Poe, and Rey rushed back to the Goldsmiths, Emily Badman, and Sarah Roth, the thunder of people became more of a loud murmur. Wet socks squished and slipped. Children cried and held tight to their mothers. Men quieted their families with soothing words of hope and comfort. _Unsinkable_. Those who could got cork lifebelts. Those who could read English followed the signs to upper decks. Those who couldn't followed or wandered. The men in the boiler rooms weren't fools; they knew they were going to die. Still they operated their pumps to keep the ship level. Two men stayed in the Marconi room, frantically sending CQD; they even shared a bit of gallows humor. Eight men gathered together on the boat deck, dressed in tuxedos, and played ragtime music while the elite began to understand that the ship was sinking.

                One of the young men on the Goldsmiths' ticket was taking his time. Rey pulled Ben into the stairwell that led to the ice cream freezer but went up instead. Poe trailed behind, waiting for Emily. He hurried them along with a shooing motion and a crooked smile. Rey didn't have to be told again. She clasped Ben's hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white beneath her gloves and followed the signs, all but dragging him to the boat deck.

                The sea had swallowed a good deal of the ship's prow. Rey laughed hollowly. When Ben raised an eyebrow, she explained. "We're toys. This ship is a toy for God to play with like a bored toddler in a bath. We're _nothing_ to God. We can die tonight by the hundreds and it won't matter to Him."

                "It's a pretty damn expensive toy." He tried to smile. "Let's just focus on getting a lifeboat, eh?"

                They waited. The call from the officers of _women and children only_ made Rey flinch. The music was a welcome enough distraction. It was lively, nothing like Rey had heard them play at meals. She lay her head against Ben's arm while they waited for men to be allowed. Mr. Ismay helped women into a boat, then walked to the next boat to help more. Crystalline water crept ever closer, all at once too quickly and agonizingly slowly. The degree of the ship was tilting alarmingly. People were panicking. Boats were being launched half-full, and no amount of money would convince Officer Lightoller to allow a man on board, no matter how empty the boat. Periodically distress rockets fired, catching the attention of no one. There was a far-off, intangible promise of rescue. CQD was still being sent, and Rey overheard officers saying that they had gotten a response. She wondered if it would be soon enough.

                They gripped one another fiercely, using a wall for purchase as the angle of the ship raised incrementally. Men were beginning to jump into the sea. Were they hoping for a rescue? The boats didn't slow their trajectory away from the ship, hoping to outrun its suction. Perhaps they were looking for a quick death. Or maybe they were merely hastening the inevitable. The ocean would claim them sooner or later. Ben shuddered.

                "I wish you had a heavier coat," Rey whispered, kissing his bare palm.

                "It's not that, little sparrow." He couldn't keep the anguish from his voice. "I don't see Poe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME ABOUT POE, maybe go look at the Author's Notes from Chapter Four? Oh, and if you comment, I miiiiight give you hints. I am a benevolent autocrat!
> 
> What Rey says in German is essentially "What's up?" colloquially. TBH I don't know what the exact translation would have been 115 years ago; Deutsch ist nicht meine Muttersprecht ;) It's extremely informal and would have been downright rude to say to a stranger. While it's more likely that a rich girl of that time would have known French, Rey was raised unconventionally. I wanted her to be less elitist even among the poor.
> 
> Okay, so how do I know where everyone is staying on this ship? I didn't just guess. For some passengers, we know their actual room numbers. For Steerage, not so. I kind of lucked out in that the real people I used left testimony. Emily Badman said her cabin was aft. She testified that she met the Goldsmiths, Sarah Roth, and others near her room. The Goldsmiths told their grandchildren that they were staying on the port side. Since Emily Badman and the Goldsmiths met near *both* of their rooms, it was easy to deduce that all of them stayed on the port side near the stern, probably on F Deck.
> 
> 28 nationalities were represented on the _Titanic_. Interestingly, there was only one person from Japan. He was a First Class passenger.
> 
> LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT CHARLES LIGHTOLLER. History sees him as a hero. It's true that for most of his life he did amazing things. On this particular night, however, he did something despicable. He waved his (unloaded) gun around and forced 25 men out of a lifeboat, calling them cowards. There were no women nearby to take their seats, but Lightoller didn't let the men return to the boat. He lowered it. He is credited with saving the lives of everyone on Collapsible B, which was overturned and which he did not actually board (a boiler exploded and he was thrown in its general direction). It is almost certain that everyone on B would have died without Lightoller, but 25 more people would have been alive if not for his misguided chivalry. He went on to become a hero in both WWI and WWII, even as a civilian in the latter. 
> 
> Fam, this prompt came from the underrated-reylo blog on tumblr. You have now given enough kudos that this story doesn't qualify as "underrated"! I adore you all so much <3 <3 
> 
> COMMENT, COMMENT! It's been a hell of a week, and I loooove talking to you!


	13. To Live

                Rey was determined to stay attached to Ben. There still weren't many people on deck (and, oh, she didn't want to think of why), but nevertheless Second Officer Lightoller wasn't allowing men to board. She watched everyone with a clinical detachment. There was Mr. Ismay, ferrying women to and fro, no doubt saving countless lives. There were the Astors, holding one another. There were the Strausses, arguing briefly, then embracing. There was the priest, walking among the scrim and trying to calm his flock. Rey thought that this would be as good a time as any for confession, if she had any regrets. Men were rushing to the starboard side; she didn't know why. As with the rats, if it was good enough for a group, it was good enough for her.

                She pulled Ben along, trying hard to watch only her feet. There was nothing in the world but her feet, the warmth of Ben's hand, and the ragtime tunes of the orchestra. She could almost ignore the sporadic bursts of screaming. The gunshots pulled her out of her reverie.

                Looking over her shoulder, she saw that a group of men dressed shabbily had rushed the deck. _Steerage. Maybe even Poe_. The gun was held high in the air by an officer. His voice rang out clearly. "Stand back there, now!" No panic followed. Rey assumed that no one had been shot; it really didn't matter to her, anyway. She continued her journey starboard, tightening her grip on Ben's jacket sleeve.

                The pair approached Lifeboat 9. There were few people in it. Fortunately, First Officer Murdoch was giving seats to men. Plenty of stewards had seats. Mme. Aubart was preparing to board. She was saying a passionate goodbye to Mr. Guggenheim, who looked resigned. He asked that a message be given to his wife; he wanted her to know that he had done the best he could by her. Ordinarily, Rey would have snorted, but this situation was far from ordinary. Benjamin Guggenheim would be dead soon. Let him have his romantic notion. Suddenly, Rey's shoulders were grabbed and she was shaken. Ben moved away, only a few steps.

                "Bessie?" she asked. Her friend was, to put it kindly, a mess. Her fine clothes were rumpled and her hair was in disarray. Her eyes were swollen, her face was lined with tears, and her nose was dripping.

                "I can't find him," Bessie hiccupped. "I can't find my baby!" Lorraine, clutched tight in her arms, wailed. "We were in a boat, but then somebody told me Hud was in one on the port side, so we got out to join him. I have to find him and the baby!"

                "Could he be with the nurse?" Rey asked calmly.

                "I can't find her, either! I could get in with a clean conscience if only I had little Hudson."

                "They've probably already launched," Rey reasoned. "You and Lorraine should get in here with us-"

                "Not without the baby!"

                "At least give us Lorraine," Rey beseeched.

                "No," Bessie said obstinately. "I will not be parted from my children."

                Officer Murdoch called for final passengers. Ben was whispering to him. Murdoch nodded. Ben returned and led Rey to Lifeboat 9. It started lowering. Rey cried for it to stop- they weren't in yet! Ben dropped her into it and moved back, watching from the deck as she descended. Her eyes seared into him like hot coals; if looks could kill, Ben Solo would have combusted on the spot. Rey surged upward, trying to grab the ropes that lowered them. Léontine Aubart's arms caught her about the waist. She was murmuring something- Rey didn't care what- sniffling all the while. Rey only had eyes for Ben.

                "Swear you'll live!" she shouted. "Swear by Christ!"

                Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe it was the stress, or the tears, or wishful thinking. Whatever the case, Rey believed that he answered. It was silent, only because she was too far to hear, but it was there. He had quirked his full lips into something like a smile and sworn. She knew it in her soul to be true. 

\---------

                It had been easy to say "I love you" when he knew she couldn't hear.

                Benjamin Guggenheim was clapping him on the shoulder, including him in some bizarre conversation with Colonel Archibald Gracie. Guggenheim had given up; Gracie had not. They were discussing _what to do_ , and Ben heard his voice participating. He wasn't sure with whom he was agreeing; maybe both of them. Rey had wanted him to swear to survive. He had read it on her lips and seen it in her face. The least he could do was try. He wouldn't be so proactive in finding a seat as Gracie, nor so resigned as Guggenheim. He would attempt to live, only stopping that attempt if explicitly told to do so.

                Guggenheim left the deck. When he re-emerged from his room, he would be wearing his finest clothes, a rose in his buttonhole. He and his valet would last be seen smoking cigars and drinking brandy. When stewards would try to shuttle him to the deck or put him in a life belt, he would rebuff them. "We've dressed in our best," he would say, "and are prepared to go down as gentlemen." He would sit on a deck chair and toast the men and women in the boats, never once trying to buy a seat.

                Ben became acutely aware of the paper money Rey had thrust at him earlier. It lay folded and safe within his waistcoat. He didn't intend to use it. Bribery was an ugly thing, unfit for a gentleman. If he died- if he had to part ways from his family and Rey forever- he would do it properly. He would stand upright, hold his ground, close his eyes, and die a gentleman's death. He owed it to his mother. But first, he would try to live.

                Ben knew he didn't presently have much to live for. He was poor. He was estranged from his family. He was, to put it delicately, a man about town. He had a temper. He wasn't going to live for himself. He was going to live for his mother, who hadn't deserved the callous things he had said. He would live for his father, whom he had disrespected time and again. He would live to reconcile with his uncle, whose eyes were so similar in color to the water that was drinking down the ship ever faster. He would live to enjoy another day with Poe. He would live to thank Maz. He would live for Rey- to help her and to love her. To die now would be selfish.

                So he stayed near Officer Murdoch, who was allowing male passengers from time to time. He kept his eyes on the throng of men who had just erupted from Third Class, scanning for Poe and calling his name. Unfortunately, Poe wasn't the tallest of men, so he proved impossible to spot. Fortunately, Ben was unusually tall, so Poe spotted him almost instantly.

                Poe clapped Ben on the back, whooping. The pair shared a quick embrace.

                "Some trip, yeah?" Poe remarked. "Glad the tickets were free."

                "Is now really the time to be making jokes?"

                "It ain't called gallows humor for nothing." They watched in quietude as boat after boat left, none of them full. Poe would shake his head each time the call was made to lower. His voice shook a bit when he spoke some time later. "We were stuck for a while. Tried to climb a ladder and the door was locked. We made it- the girls, you know. The Goldsmiths, too. He knows he's not going to make it. Their son- I don't know what age they're deciding a fella isn't a child anymore. I saw a guy with a gun back there-" he jerked his thumb towards the port side "-tell a boy who'd just turned thirteen that he was too old. Let him stay eventually. Still lowered that boat mostly empty."

                Ben made a small noise of affirmation. "I'm sure there'll be an inquiry."

                Poe shrugged. "Lot of good that'll do. You say your proper goodbyes to Rey?"

                "No. I told her I loved her... after I dumped her in a lifeboat that was already being lowered and she couldn't hear me."

                "Typical," Poe tsked.

                "But I don't need to say goodbye. I'm going to survive," Ben said with conviction. "And so are you."

\---------

                Rey didn't cry. She wasn't angry anymore. She wasn't even cold, though she assumed it was freezing because she could see her breath come out in little puffs.

                Rey felt nothing. It was a skill she had honed over the months since her father died. She wasn't watching the _RMS Titanic_ sink. She didn't know that ship there, its front half eaten by the ocean. It was like she was at the cinema, only there were colors and sound. The rockets popped, though she didn't know why they bothered. Someone in their boat, a crew member (most of them were crew members, she noted), said they saw a rescue ship on the horizon and that they would certainly see the rockets. Rey conceded that it _did_ look like there was a ship in the distance, but it didn't matter because Rey was simply an observer. Even as the angle grew more outrageous, more obscene, the lights of _Titanic_ stayed on. The voices around her mumbled as they rowed ever farther from Ben. The oars dipped into the water, swished, emerged, and repeated countless times.

                And then the most curious thing happened (though she shouldn't have been surprised): the lights went off. The world was as black as pitch, only the pinpricks of stars interrupting the dark canvas. As quickly as they had gone out, they blinked back on. Rey could now see the rudder and propellers with her own eyes. She would have been awed under different circumstances.

                She closed her eyes and leaned against an equally silent Léontine. _To sleep, perchance to dream, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come must give us pause_. Was that right? She yawned. _All our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow_. She tried to sniff, but her nose was so cold that even her snot was frozen. How pedestrian, she thought, from an old-money perspective. Armitage must be feeling very put-out.

                She wondered if the band was still playing. Rey began to hum, not Mozart or any operas, but the folk music she had danced to in Steerage. She even let the words, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" slip past her cracking lips. _If music be the food of love, play on_.

                Ben would live. He had to.

\---------

                And suddenly there was screaming. It wasn't the high-pitched yelp of someone getting a fright. This was a chorus of terror, a cacophony. It came in tandem with a sound Rey had never heard, a wet _whoosh_ and the crack of a whip and the splintering of wood and the bending of metal, all mixed together in a grotesque threnody. Her eyes snapped open. The ship was no longer sticking out of the water at an unnatural angle; it was split into pieces.

                The wave took a bit to reach them, but their boat rocked violently. Rey clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from vomiting. One or two men weren't able to keep their supper in and wound up with sloppy shoes. They resolved to row faster, harder. Suction, they said, from when the entire ship went under. None of the passengers disagreed.

                It was dark, but she could make out the stern going completely vertical. She watched men and women jump into the sea. She saw the splashes their bodies made when they hit the water. She watched _Titanic_ descend. She spared a tear.

                For the rest of her life, Rey would be haunted. It wasn't the sinking, she would say, or knowing how many were dead. It was the drowning.

                It is impossible to describe the sound of a human being drowning. The survivors wore their cork lifebelts, which did nothing but keep them afloat if they were light enough, and _screamed_ for the lifeboats to help them. Lifeboat 9 did not go back. They would be swarmed, the crew said. _Listen to them scream. They'll overtake us, and then we'll all die_. The noises of gurgling water and splashing didn't last long.

                Most of those people, bobbing about in their cork vests, were dead within five minutes.

\---------

                There was one boat, however, that survived despite all of the odds.

                Poe Dameron and Ben Solo refused seats on Collapsible C. There were still other boats, they said. Bruce Ismay reluctantly took a seat at the insistence of the ladies on board. Poe and Ben soon regretted their decision.

                Collapsible A had not been launched. There had not been time. It washed out to sea with only a few people seated. Immediately others in the frigid depths sought refuge. Ben and Poe helped them in. When the boat had about 30 passengers, it turned over, throwing everyone into the water.

                Men and women alike scrambled to get the boat upright. Its canvas sides weren't properly raised, but it was refilled just the same. In addition to people, icy North Atlantic water sat in the vessel.

                Poe and Ben tried to make the most of it. They took turns rubbing each others' feet to avoid frostbite. They talked about anything but the past week. They sang hymns, but not "Nearer My God to Thee". No; that had been the last song played. It seemed improper. The boat had no oars; they drifted. What began as a quiet borne of sadness and shock became the silence of death. Men and women were dying of exposure, the air, water, and wet clothes- all too much for them.

                Prayers were spoken before a body was tossed into the sea as gently as they could manage.

                Night didn't end; not really. Out of habit, Ben kept checking his pocket watch. Its hands were stuck at just after 2 AM. He peeled off his jacket and threw it into the ocean. Wet clothes, he knew, lower body temperature, and he didn't need any more help with that. Even when the blackness began to fade to slate and the slate became tinged with sunlight, the night wore on. More people in Collapsible A fell into their eternal slumber. They continued drifting. They hadn't seen or heard anyone in hours.

                Ben had truly tried to live. He was not optimistic about his chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Ismay is always portrayed as a villain, but every survivor of the sinking has lauded him as a hero. Newspapers even called him "Brute" Ismay. He only got into a boat at the last minute when there were literally zero women nearby, and only because the women in the boat begged him to for helping them.  
> JJ Astor died in the sinking. His wife and unborn child survived.  
> Ida Strauss refused to leave her husband. Isidor tried to convince her to get into a lifeboat, but she preferred to stay and die with him than live without him.  
> While gunshots were fired several times by various officers, no *person* was shot. It was only to maintain order.  
> Bessie Allison did leave her lifeboat with Lorraine to look for Hud and the baby. Baby Hudson had been taken by his nurse on one of the first boats. Hud, Bessie, and Lorraine all perished. Lorraine is the only first or second class child who died in the disaster. Thanks to Maggie and Miss_Singing_In_The_Rain in the comments for pointing out that I had made a mistake initially.  
> Col. Gracie survived the sinking. It is because of him that we know a lot of the timeline and events. He also noted Guggenheim's last words.  
> It is thought that the Californian was seen by many on the horizon. In fact, some who were aboard the Californian report seeing the Titanic's rockets and wondering why they were being set off. Survivor Eva Hart is among those who claims to have seen the Californian.  
> Rey quotes Hamlet, Macbeth, and (again) Twelfth Night.  
> SCIENCE! The current theory is that the ship didn't break until it was entirely below water (this hypothesis being based on the location of debris &c), but eyewitnesses report seeing the ship split. I went with the passengers' accounts.  
> "It is impossible to describe the sound of a human being drowning"- paraphrased from an interview with Eva Hart.  
> There is some debate over the last song the band played, but Emily Badman reported that it was "Nearer My God to Thee". 
> 
> PHEW, that was a long A/N! *Please* let me know what you thought of this chapter. It is very much not my usual style, so I'm curious.  
> Also it has been a SUPREMELY terrible week (month if I'm honest), so I would just love some chatting. I do so love to chat with everyone! <3 Happy (early-ish) Halloween!  
> Additionally, I haven't said this before, but if someone catches something that I've missed or gotten wrong, please do tell me! I've had two or three people correct/remind me of things and I was so grateful. Historians are not *always* on point XD


	14. Reunions

                Rey watched with fascination as people were brought aboard the _Carpathia_. Men climbed rope ladders. Those women who could climb did as well. Heavy nets were lowered to hoist the frail. Children were shoved into burlap sacks and brought in bunches by those same nets. All the while there was a persistent wailing, the sound of heartbreak made tangible.

                She herself made no noise. She gave her name when she was asked but was otherwise silent. She observed. There was nothing else to do; to participate in searches, or form her own search, would make it all real. The dying. The cold. The loss. So she watched. She saw people embracing. Kissing. More often they were crying. They patted each other on the back and whispered comforting lies. Sometimes lying is the kindest thing one can do for another human being. Smiles popped up here and there. The smiles didn't reach anyone's eyes. All of the faces looked the same. Men, women- they were all the same color as the sky, slate gray and slightly fuzzy. The wailing continued.

                The sky was brightening. It was queerly beautiful. The sun hurt her eyes and she hadn't slept in over a day and everything she owned was deep, deep down, but it was a lovely day. It was almost as if God was laughing at them. _Look at what you have. Look at how I've taken everything from you. Now look- I will give the birds and fish a fine morning_. Maybe it was His way of punishing mankind for daring to challenge Him. Unsinkable? Why, they had practically been asking for divine retribution.

                Someone gave her tea. She hoped she thanked them.

                She waited for the faces to become distinct.

\---------

                The first person who found her was Rose. The little maid threw her arms around Rey, and suddenly they were among the crying. Finn was not far behind, and, unable to help herself, Rey kissed him on the cheek.

                Armitage stood back a few paces, wrapped in a blanket and staring at her sealskin boots. She approached him slowly. "Our boat took water," he said. "Terribly unpleasant. But at least- at least we're all-" His eyes welled up, and fat tears ran down his cheeks. "Why didn't you get in the boat, Rey? Why did you run? My God, I was so terrified. I don't know what I would have done had you not survived."

                Rey held him as he was wracked with sobs. She shushed and soothed him like she would a child. "I'm alive," she said. "We're alive."

                He nodded. "I was so afraid for you," he whispered into her hair. "I thought, 'she is going to die before our wedding day'. Thank God you're alive."

                _If not now, when?_ a treacherous little voice inside her asked. _There's no running or hiding now. Tell the truth._

                "We aren't going to have a wedding day," Rey croaked out. "I'm sorry."

                Armitage stiffened and extricated himself from her arms with care. "Rey," he said earnestly, "you're in shock." He took his blanket and wrapped it around her.

                "I might be. I'm not sure what exactly that means. But I decided a while ago. We're not a good match."

                "Darling," he said softly, looking into her eyes, "I know you don't love me yet, but I love you. That's enough for now, because I truly believe you'll come to love me. And there's your financial situation. Your father died without a penny. You need my money. It's a good match. An excellent one."

                Rey gasped. "You knew about the money?"

                He smiled wanly. "Of course. I didn't realize you thought it a secret. Your father's solicitor sent papers as soon as your Papa became irreversibly ill. I asked for your hand when you had a fortune. I kept it because I love you."

                "But you _can't_ love me!"

                Armitage almost chuckled. "And why not?"

                "Because you want to change everything about me."

                He flinched. "I don't want to change you. I want to instruct you. You're not quite what a society wife should be yet."

                "And that," she said evenly, "is why we are not a good match. I want to be _somebody's_ wife, not a _society_ wife. I want to belong to one person, not an entire caste. I want to be happy, Armitage. I deserve to be happy. All of us do. You and I won't make each other happy." She slid the heavy engagement ring off of her finger and pressed it into his palm.

                "You're in shock," he repeated, dumbfounded.

                "Possibly."

                "You'll change your mind."

                "I won't."

                "I love you," he said again. "I love you and I can take care of you."

                Rey let the blanket fall from her shoulders and to the _Carpathia_ 's deck. She put her hand on Armitage's cheek and smiled. "I know, and thank you. But I need to prove that I can take care of myself."

\---------

                Of the people who had made it into Collapsible A, perhaps twelve survived. They were found in their oar-less boat, drifting, by Fifth Officer Lowe in Lifeboat 14. Lowe had lashed together several boats and shifted passengers so that he might return for survivors. He found precious few. At the site of the sinking there remained little debris; nothing but deckchairs dotted the spaces between bodies. Before Lifeboat 14 reached the _Carpathia_ , a man Lowe had pulled from the water died of the cold. More were headed to the icy grip of death. Lowe told his men to row faster.

                Ben and Poe helped with the rowing. When _Carpathia_ picked them up, they helped the women into their rope seats. They climbed aboard the rescue ship silently.

                Having given their names, they asked for some in turn.

                Emily Badman? Aboard.

                Sarah Roth? Aboard.

                Emily Goldsmith? Aboard, and her son.

                Frank Goldsmith? Dai Bowen? Leslie Williams? Not on my list, but maybe on someone else's.

                It was a pretty lie. Poe nodded wordlessly and made the sign of the cross. Ben followed suit. Then they asked where the Third Class passengers were congregating and solemnly joined the milieu.

                While Poe actively searched for Emily and Sarah, Ben _noticed_. He realized that he recognized most of the faces around him. They were predominantly female faces, mostly English-speaking faces. He noticed the occasional stray child, screaming for Tata or Papa. He noticed a certain quiet amongst the commotion, a stoicism. He realized that it was actually hundreds of hands clinging to the hope that it wasn't _their_ husband, wasn't _their_ father, wasn't _their_ son, and that as soon as all of the boats were found and all of the names taken, that stubborn hope would shatter. When hope left those hands, there would be no more underlying quiet. The sound of seven hundred souls screaming, even internally, would be maddening.

                He watched the sun climb. He was given a warm drink and some food.

                He was _alive_.

                How was he alive?

                By all rights he should have died. He was a twenty-nine year old man travelling on a third-class ticket. He should have died. A laugh escaped his throat and he felt suddenly very hot. Twelve people survived in his boat, and it had started out _full_ compared to some of the others. There were so few people alive. He shouldn't be one of them. His boat hadn't even been launched properly. How was he alive? Who died that should still be here? He inhaled quickly, shakily. All of them, of course. No one should have died. But if he had to switch places with someone, if he could have given his seat to someone- who should it have been? Astor? Guggenheim? Dai or Leslie? Frank Goldsmith? No, it would have been a woman. No, a child. Why was he sweating? Why was he alive? Why had that rich man died in Lifeboat 14 instead of Ben? It was so _hot_ , and he shouldn't be alive. He should have gone with Guggenheim and gotten drunk and died. Instead, he was cold and hot and sweating and itching and on a different ship and _why_?

                A voice echoed in his mind. It was clarion, something he had never forgotten but needed to remember:

                _When we get to New York, I need help running away. I don't know how to disappear. I don't know anything about America. I don't know if living in poverty will be quite so transformative for me as it was for you, but I know that I'm not happy and that I won't be happy so long as I'm under Armitage's control. Please say you'll help me._

                Rey Kelsey-Crawford was why. He looked around, head spinning. Poe Dameron was why. Maz Kanata and Luke Skywalker and Mother and Father- they were all why. But it still felt _wrong_.

                Standing, he made his way toward the more finely dressed survivors. He didn't see Rey right away, but Maz's hat, covered in fake fruit, was hard to miss. Ben offered her a small wave; she blew him a kiss and put her hand over her heart.  He spotted Rose next. They locked eyes; she was so full of vitriol that he didn't dare approach her. She approached him instead. Ben groaned.

                "Did you tell her to do it?" Rose demanded.

                _She must mean not getting in the first lifeboat_. "You were there. You know I didn't."

                "Me? What do you mean I was there?"

                "In the room. When we were talking about it."

                "So you did tell her to do it!" Rose shouted.

                "No," Ben replied. "You were right there. I told her not to do it!"

                "For the money?" Rose sneered.

                "For the-" Ben faltered. "We _are_ talking about her not taking the first available boat, right?"

                "No!"

                "Then what the hell are you yelling about?"

                "Miss Rey broke her engagement with Mr. Hux and I know you have something to do with it!" The little maid was on the verge of tears. "I know she wasn't happy, but she could have been eventually. Then _you_ showed up and played the hero and threw everything out of order!"

                "She... broke her engagement?" Ben asked dumbly.

                "Yes, and now she's going to be destitute, and she doesn't know how to do without! This is all. Your. Fault." She punctuated each word with a poke to the chest.

                "She broke her engagement," he said with wonder. Leaving Rose Tico out of sight and mind, he wandered, looking for Rey. "She broke her engagement."

\---------

                She found him. They stared at one another for long, agonizing seconds. What was the right thing to say in a time and place like this?

                He felt her cold hands on his face and her warm breath on his lips, tickling him as she talked.

                "I should slap you. I really want to. But I'm just so happy you're alive that I can't bring myself to do it. Oh, Ben..." There was a sob in her voice. He took it away by kissing her.

                It was short, slow, and inelegant, two pairs of cracked lips tentatively moving against one another, gentle as the brush of a feather.

                Her head rested against his chest. The steady _thump-thump_ of his heart distracted her from the wailing. Her measured breathing distracted him from the quiet before the storm.

                "I should have died, Rey," he whispered. She jerked. "Please let me finish. By all rights, I ought to be dead. There are so many who are dead... But there were people I was thinking about. People I care for. People I love. I knew, standing there, that I had to try to live for their sakes. I know I should have died. If I had, though, I wouldn't have been able to say things to those people. I wouldn't be able to apologize or thank anyone. I wouldn't be able to tell anyone that I loved them again." His breath hitched, and the _thump-thump_ became faster. "I heard you shouting at me to swear to live. Did you hear my answer?"

                "No," Rey said, curling her fingers into his shirt. "I knew, though, that you swore."

                "That isn't what I said." _thump-thump_ , _thump-thump_ , _thump-thump_ "I told you that I love you. I had been trying to find the right time to say it. I knew, though, that that could be my last chance. So instead of swearing to live, I said it. Because If I died- even in death- I would love you." Ben felt a slight dampness on his only shirt and knew Rey was crying. "Please don't be upset. You don't have to be obligated to say it back."

                "It's not that," she said, sniffling. "It's just... No one ever taught me what true love is. I didn't have a mother to tell me such things, and governesses certainly don't cover the subject. When you went to find your friends, I felt something. I knew that I needed you. I don't mean that I needed you to help me run away; I needed you, as a person, to survive. The thought of a world without you made my chest feel tight. I remember thinking that I like you, but differently. _More_. And I thought, what if there's no one definition for true love? What if I'm thinking too hard? I knew I had to find you. You were resigned to death, and I couldn't let that happen. That's how I feel about you. And... I think that's love."

                Ben held her tighter. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured.

                "You can't even see my face right now," Rey said with a little hiccup, "and believe me, I'm all swollen from crying. I'm far from beautiful."     

                "I'd give you a handkerchief, but all of my nice ones are in Germany," he said, attempting levity.

                Rey cracked a smile. "That seems like so long ago."

                "The eleventh," Ben said. "I met you on the eleventh. I held your hand and promised to take you home on the twelfth. I danced with you on the thirteenth and kissed you just after midnight on the fourteenth."

                "There was more to the fourteenth," Rey said.

                "Not that can be said in polite company."

                She took one of his hands and kissed the palm. "I like that you remember the dates. It's sweet."

                "I think most people will remember last night most clearly," Ben replied solemnly. "I'm choosing to remember the days. I won't ever forget last night, but I will think of the days whenever I get maudlin about the night."

                Rey nodded and kissed his hand again. "That's a good plan."

\---------

                Captain Arthur Henry Rostron had begun readying _Carpathia_ for _Titanic_ survivors the moment he responded to the distress call. Doctors were at the ready. When someone was hungry, hot soup was waiting. When someone was fatigued, bunks were already prepared. When the wireless room was flooded with messages from shore, Rostron ordered that no news outlets be given any information. Only personal messages were to be sent.

                Ben Solo sent a message to his parents on the afternoon of April 17th. It was short and did not hint at his ordeal.

                _Coming home soon. Please forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? That's where the title came from! I mean, yes, obviously, the book by Walter Lord, but I had that line planned from the get-go :D
> 
> Ah, Hux. The foreshadowing was there. I kept putting off and pushing back the ~reveal. 
> 
> Ben's flashback is from Chapter 4.  
> Ben is suffering from survivor's guilt. This is no longer considered a psychological disorder as such; the DSM-IV and forward list it as a symptom of PTSD. What I have written is obviously only very surface-level, and that's intentional.
> 
> SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT CAPTAIN ARTHUR HENRY ROSTRON. This guy was an amazing human being. He's sleeping and this dude Cottam wakes him up saying they'd gotten a distress call from Titanic. Rostron hops out of bed, turns his ship around, and *after* he's already on his way he asks Cottam "u sure bro?" Well, Cottam is the one who was working in the telegraph room so he was like, "YES, CAP'N." Carpathia's top speed was supposed to be 14 knots. Rostron was not about that. He turned off all heating throughout the ship and managed to get her up to 17.5 knots. THERE'S MORE. This guy called up extra lookouts so he could freaking *zoom* through ice fields. Apparently their hull got a little too close for comfort with some ice, but Rostron was a BOSS. He had doctors, makeshift dormitories, soup, coffee, and blankets ready before they picked up the first survivor. He sent out two of Carpathia's lifeboats to look for survivors. Roston had several options for where he could disembark Titanic's passengers: Halifax (the closest port), the Azores (the least costly), or... well, he was an AMAZING GENTLEMAN and had a discussion with Bruce Ismay about what would be best for the passengers. They decided NYC. Rostron forbade any communication with the press, even though he was offered a fortune for any small detail of the disaster. Oh, did I mention that when Carpathia neared the coordinates sent to them, Rostron sent out green rockets to "encourage" Titanic (if she was afloat) or her passengers (if she wasn't)? This man was so pure. He was supposed to be on the Mauretania as she went to shipbreakers, but the thought of his beloved ship being destroyed made him too sad and he couldn't make the journey.   
> Rostron was given all kinds of honors and awards. He was knighted by George V. He was given a silver cup by survivors (presented to him by Margaret Brown). He received a Congressional Gold Medal (the highest honor Congress could give him). We should all strive to be like Captain Rostron. 
> 
> One chapter to go!   
> Fam, I need help figuring out what to write next. Would you like a tattoo!AU, a journalist!AU, or something else entirely? Those are two of the things I have a start on. Prompt meeeeeeee!
> 
> Comments give me LIFE! I love chit-chatting with everyone and I appreciate you all so much <3 
> 
> [Clicking these words will send you to my tumblr](https://maq-moon.tumblr.com)


	15. Boston

_Carpathia_ slid into pier 54 of New York harbor at 9:25 PM on April 18th. First and Second Class passengers were allowed to leave straightaway; Steerage passengers were kept for an additional two hours as they were processed by immigration officials. Rey elected to stay with Ben. Poe was saying a fond farewell to Emily Badman and Sarah Roth. His boisterous laughter echoed when Sarah asked him to be in her upcoming wedding. He politely declined, then wished her the best with a flourished bow and kiss on the knuckles. He kissed Emily more familiarly and spoke to her in hushed tones.

                Rey clenched and unclenched her fingers. She was wearing a dress that didn't quite fit, a gift from a kind _Carpathia_ passenger. The lights of New York City were a tint of yellow that made her nervous. They were similar to the lights of London or Manchester, but clumped too tightly together and climbing higher than artificial light had any right to do. It made her nervous. It reminded her of JJ Astor. She wanted to leave immediately.

                She had not said goodbye to Armitage, whose pride was too wounded to come to her. Finn and Rose had sought her out when the Statue of Liberty had come into view. Finn was content to say farewell. Rose wept and begged her mistress to apologize to her now-former fiancé. Rey tried to assure her that she would be fine, that she almost certainly had a job waiting for her, that she was excited to be embarking on a real adventure. Rey didn't share her anxiety. The two hugged tearfully. Rose warned Ben severely, "If you break her heart or let her become poor, I'll hunt you down and break your face." Then she and Ben laughed. Rose Tico walked into New York with a glowing letter of recommendation and a forwarding address for Rey in Boston.

                At Maz Kanata's insistence, Ben, Poe, and Rey rode in her Paterson Touring to Boston. Maz drove most of the way herself. She swerved regularly, making Poe vomit more than once. About three-quarters of the way into the journey, she told Rey to take the wheel, insisting that the best way for her to learn to drive was to _just do it already_. Rey guided the group for a few hours at most, and Maz steered her automobile into Boston at twilight on April 23rd. She shifted into park in front of the Solo household in Roxbury and idled.

                "This is your stop, Ben," Maz said bluntly but not unkindly. "Poe and Rey will be at my house. You can call on them once you've made your peace with your parents."

\---------

                Ben stared at the house's red door. How long had it been since he's last crossed that threshold? How long since he had pressed his face against those windows, earning a reprimand from old Mr. Threepio, the butler whose buttons were always shined to perfection? How long since he'd sat before the fire with his mother, reading to her as she sewed?

                He didn't feel fully present. It was as though he were dreaming and his mind hadn't decided yet whether it would be a nightmare. He swallowed thickly and took a step forward, then another, chewing the inside of his cheek. What if they turned him away? He had come so far. He had come so far and lost so much.

                He had told Poe to not dwell on _if_. Perhaps he should have considered that. There was a real possibility that his father would throw him out on his ass. He would deserve it. At least, had he thought about _if_ , he might be more prepared. Instead, he was reduced to being a scared boy with shaking fingers who couldn't even knock on the door. With difficulty, he took another step.

                "I didn't live," he said aloud, "so that I _wouldn't_ ask forgiveness."

                He rapped on the door exactly once before it opened.

                He wasn't greeted by the butler. He was greeted by the tearful face of his mother. "Oh, Ben," she whispered, taking him into her arms. She peppered him with kisses and babbled. "When we got Maz's telegraph, we were so happy. Then we heard about the ship sinking and thought you had- had died. And then we heard from you and it was as sweet as hearing your first word. Sweeter, maybe. Oh, my baby, come inside."

                "Maz's telegram?" was all he could think to say. He let himself be pulled into the drawing room and pushed onto a sofa. She sat beside him and held his hands.

                "Yes. I'll find it later if you want. Something about you being unable to contact us but wanting to? But Ben, it doesn't matter because you're home now."

                "She must have sent that the night I was, um, detained. I let my temper get the better of me," he said sheepishly.

                "You're just like your father. Goodness, how could I not- HAN!"

                "What, woman?" came a gruff call from the far side of the house.

                "We have a visitor!"

                "Tell them to go away!"

                "I will scratch the paint off of that shiny new automobile if you don't get in here NOW!"

                Footsteps rapidly approached. "Jesus, Leia, no need to get crazy." Han's jaw dropped slightly and he stared from across the room. "Ben," he said. "I..."

                "I know," Ben said after a few moments of silence. "I understand. I'll go. I said horrible things. I _did_ horrible things. I came to apologize. And I'm sorry, I truly am. I took you both for granted and used you and manipulated you and was a general pain. No amount of words can fix that. I understand. I didn't come back so you'd give me more money. I came to apologize. That was one of the reasons I... I decided to try to live. But that doesn't mean you owe me. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry and I love you. So, having said that, I'll go."

                Ben tried to stand; Leia held his hands firmly. Han chuckled. "You're an idiot, kid."

                "I know, and I'm sorry."

                "He means that we forgave you a long time ago. We don't want you to leave."

                He looked from his father to his mother, then back again. "Really?"

                "Really," Han replied. "Now tell us how you survived. I want to know exactly how to thank God when I pray tonight."

                "Since when do you pray?"

                Han stroked his cheek. He looked old, tired. Wrinkles and sagging skin covered his handsome face. "Since my only son nearly died but made it back to us."

\---------

                Rey hadn't expected to see Ben so soon. She imagined that he would spend a lot of time with his family- days, probably- before he came to her. Instead, he called on her the afternoon following their arrival.

                She joined him on the veranda, sitting hip-to-hip, clasping hands. "Poe is looking for work," Rey said. "He thinks that laying railways may be more lucrative than working in shipyards these days."

                "And you?" Ben asked, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

                "Maz has asked me to stay with her as a companion. I think I'll accept. She's a lovely woman, and I've gotten along with her from the start." She smiled up at him. "What about you? I trust things went well. You're dressed rather nicely this afternoon."

                "They've forgiven me," he said. "I don't deserve it, but they've forgiven me. They want me to stay at home until I find a profession I like."

                "Looks like we'll be neighbors," Rey replied.

                Ben flushed. "That's the thing... I don't want to be neighbors."

                Rey snatched her hand back and scooted away. "What? But... you said that you love me. Why wouldn't you want to be near me?"

                "You misunderstand," Ben said, smiling. He laced his fingers with hers again. His hands were shaking and he couldn't meet her eyes. "I want us to be honest. I want to make you honest and I want you to make me honest. I want- _God_ , I'm so bad at this sort of thing."

                Rey watched him with an intense curiosity. "Just say it."

                He took a deep breath. "I'd like to be your husband, if you'll have me. I know we've only known each other a short time, but we love each other. We've already _known_ each other in the Biblical sense."

                Rey thought about how she had accepted Armitage's proposal when she knew she had no feelings for him. She thought about Hud and Bessie Allison and how they had met on a train- love at first sight. She thought about how she had just gotten out of an engagement with a rich man. She thought about how she had known that she loved Ben even when he was poor. She thought, most importantly, about herself.

                "I have terms," she said. "I won't be a society wife. I want to be a wife to a person, not a class."

                "Once you meet my family, you'll see that isn't an issue."

                "I need you to say the words."

                "You won't be a society wife," Ben swore.

                "You don't get to yell at me."

                "I have a temper," Ben tried. Rey shot him a dirty look. "But I will do my absolute best to never so much as raise my voice to you."

                "I get to stay me. No _instructing_ or telling me what company to keep."

                "Absolutely. I wouldn't want you if you weren't so bricky and independent."

                "And you must always treat me as your equal. That's my last demand."

                "Rey, you are far from my equal. You're a seraph compared to me."

                "No," she insisted vehemently. "We are equals or we are nothing. Tell me that we are equals."

                Ben's face split into a slow smile. "We are equals, you and I. Your fights will be my fights."

                "And your struggles will be my struggles," Rey concluded.

\---------

                "It's a pleasure to meet you both," Rey said anxiously, looking from Han to Leia in the back garden of the Solo house. Ben had brought her to make introductions, then had mysteriously disappeared inside. "I've heard nothing but good things-"

                "Don't piss down my back and tell me it's raining," Han interrupted. "Let's keep things truthful. My boy hated me for a long time. I like you, girlie. Ben says you have a head for figures."

                Rey smiled. She was shocked by Han's gruff candor; Ben had been telling the truth about his new-money father's attitude after all. She was also pleased that he was taking an interest in _her_ interests. "Yes. My Papa was self-made in erection and engineering. I learned from him."

                "Well, Han, that solves your problem!" Leia said happily.

                Rey blanched. "Problem?"

                "I was looking to hire on an accountant for the store. My dear _princess_ of a wife just jumped to conclusions and volunteered you for the position."

                "But I'd love to help! If you don't mind having your daughter-in-law work your books, that is."

                "We're golden." He winked roguishly.

                Ben returned, joining them among the late April flowers. Leia looked at him questioningly; he nodded once, sharply. He kissed his mother on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. She laughed, not the tinkling sound of an old-money heiress, but a rough chortle with a snort on the end. It was a _genuine_ laugh, and though Rey wasn't in on the joke, she appreciated it. Leia grabbed Han's hand and pulled him towards the house, making an offhand statement about cookies to tempt him.

                Rey tugged Ben close and nestled her head under his chin. When she closed her eyes, she could smell loam and so many flowers; birdsong and Ben's breathing were her music. "I like them," she said. "They're just like you said they'd be."

                "I have something for you."

                She supposed that she ought to have suspected it. _A ring_. His grandmother's ring. It was a simple ring from a man who had come to this country in servitude, Ben explained. Though Rey knew the story of the boy and his mother and his wife and his children from Maz, she listened quietly as Ben re-told the tale. She let him slide the ring on her fourth finger; it was a bit tight, but that was easily fixable.

                "I was hoping it would be like Cinderella and the slipper- a perfect fit," Ben said sheepishly.

                "Ben Solo, what on Earth would give you the impression that something in _our_ life would be perfect? Besides, it was someone else's ring first."

                "We're starting a new life now," he said seriously. "I want it to be perfect."

                Rey kissed him quickly and blushed, afraid his parents may have seen. "It won't be perfect," she said, "but we'll make it wonderful."

\---------

                It rained on their wedding day, a sign of good fortune. The ceremony was short. The guest list was small. At the reception, they had punch and a cake that Rey had made. It was slightly overdone, but no one commented on it. They were gifted with fine china, which they used only a few times a year. If there was a celebration to be had, Rey was not the hostess; Leia took over, sparing her daughter-in-law the burden of society's ever-insidious pressure. She was Ben's wife. She was a suffragist. She wrote to whomever she chose and had tea with whomever she liked. Rey was _herself_.

\---------

                In the end, these two people who had suffered extraordinarily lived a remarkably ordinary life. They were grateful for it; one horror was enough. They loved one another well. They fought, though he hardly ever shouted. They went dancing. She wore blue to cheer him up and he taught her how to play poker.

                They rarely discussed the _RMS Titanic_. They never once gave interviews. Ben had regular nightmares; Rey would shush and calm him in the inky night, reminding him that he was alive and that he had a family who loved and needed him.

                On mornings after Ben's nightmares, they were very focused on one another. It wasn't just the memory of the days aboard the ship that took away some of the hurt. The days leading up to the journey and the days caused by it helped as well. Adventures with Poe. Getting married. Having children. Reconciling with family. Becoming a Congressman. Leaving Congress to teach. Letters from Rose. Even just the day-to-day motions of _living_ could help. Any kind of distraction.

                When years had flown by and their children were nearly grown and asking for details, Ben left the room. He and Rey had discussed how they would handle this on the day their first had been born.

                "We met on that ship, your father and I. Each of you is named for someone who was a part of our journey. Lorraine was a beautiful little girl; her mother was my friend. Emily sang songs and played the piano. Henry captained the rescue ship. You ask about _Titanic_ broadly, but I know what you want. You want to know about the _sinking_. It's fine that you're curious. You want to know the story. The thing is, it's not a _story_ to us. If you want to know about the night of April 14, 1912, I suggest you go to the library. If, however, you want to know about the _days_ we spent on that beautiful ship, ask. It's quite a tale." At the insistence of her three children, Rey decided to go on. Smiling slyly, she said, "We must begin in Germany. Your father had just sold all of his handkerchiefs, but he still needed money. He decided the wisest course of action was to steal a car..."         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that! I fought with myself about the ending for more than a week. 
> 
> So! The history stuff, then the sentimental stuff!
> 
> Maz's car is a 1910 Paterson Touring. They were pretty speedy and could absolutely hit the max speed limit of 15 MPH.  
> I had the group arrive in Boston on Apr. 23. Why? Well, I knew the distance from Boston to NYC and the speed limit was between 10-15 MPH, so I could estimate the time. There weren't road maps at that time (they were *about* to be a ~thing), so I couldn't find an exact route. Additionally, I figured on the gang not leaving immediately and not sleeping in the car.  
> Greek Revival homes were very popular in Boston at the turn of the century. Their more prominent features were verandas, columns, and off-center doors.  
> If you'll recall, Ben got into fisticuffs while on his way to send a message to Han and Leia. OF COURSE Maz would send a telegram on his behalf. She's his fairy godmother!  
> So you may be thinking "he proposed awfully quickly". Not really. It wasn't uncommon for two young people to fall in love while on a journey and marry shortly thereafter. The statistics are quite interesting. Add a shared trauma and the fact that they have already ~~banged~~ bonded and it makes sense.  
>  The names of the children were inspired completely by a comment from Maggie, who said she now wants to name a kid after Capt. Rostron. I was facetious in my reply but ended up using the idea. 
> 
> Most of my facts came from [Encyclopedia Titanica](https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org). It's a nightmare to navigate, but when you find what you're looking for... just wow. I also used [Titanic Facts](www.titanicfacts.net) for a few things, such as lifeboat info. I re-watched some of my favorite documentaries and one I'd never seen before. I think _Death of a Dream_ still holds up as the best. It's older, but mostly on point. You can watch the whole thing on YouTube if you have a couple hours to kill.
> 
> My SINCEREST thanks to every commenter and kudo-er. This started out as a challenge based on a post in the underrated reylo blog on tumblr. I gave myself 12 chapters. Three chapters in I thought _how the fuck am I going to stretch this into twelve??_ Then it became _Can I squeeze it into 12? Nope, better make it fifteen._ Honestly, I would have given it up if y'all hadn't been so kind. I'm one of those individuals who needs positive reinforcement to function =/ Extra thanks to those of you who recced this story. 
> 
> Most of you asked for my Tattoo Parlor!AU. I'm working on it! I'm also doing the Anthology's Finish Your Fics project, which lines up with NaNoWriMo. That fic (currently unnamed) will take precedence, but "Temporary Tattoos" is coming along. It will be 3-5 chapters of M-rated fun.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of the conclusion in the comments! Also, apologies, AO3 was being a brat and let me respond to some but not all of last weeks comments. I TRIED!   
> LET'S GO, REYLOS! TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT!


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